New Blood
by artemisgirl
Summary: Sorted into Slytherin with the whisper of prophecy around her, Hermione refuses to bow down to the blood prejudices that poison the wizarding world. Carving her own path forward, Hermione chooses to make her own destiny, not as a Muggleborn, a halfblood, or as a pureblood... but as a New Blood, and everything the mysterious term means. ((Short chapters, done scene by scene))
1. The Sorting

**A/N: Hello! Welcome to New Blood! This, at first glance, will seem like an absurdly long story, but it encompasses Books 1-7 of the Harry Potter series. It also has fairly short chapters, each only encompassing only one or two scenes. The story can be broken down into much more manageable chunks if you read it book by book, like you might have done with the original canon.**

 **Philosopher's Stone** \- Chapters 1-65 (121,463 words)  
 **Chamber of Secrets** \- Chapters 66-?

 **I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione Granger walked to the front of the Hall with every bit of confidence she could muster, determined to stay calm despite the entire school watching her. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall opened up into the sky above her, and she felt very, very small. There was something mystical about this ritual, despite the mundane appearance of the hat, and her heart was in her throat as she approached the stool. She sat down, and with a deep breath, settled the hat on her head.

 _Oh ho_ , the Sorting Hat chuckled into her head. _What do we have here? You're a mixed bag, to be certain. Clever, very clever, and brave, to be sure. But this longing… this_ _ **ambition**_ _…_

 _Slytherin_ , Hermione told the hat silently. _I want to go to Slytherin._

 _Slytherin?_ the hat mused. _Your cunning and ambition would fit well there, to be sure. You would face prejudice there, though. Such prejudice…_

 _I am New Blood_ , Hermione told the hat determinedly. _I can handle it._

 _New Blood?_ the hat queried. _…why, look at that. You_ _ **are**_ _New Blood. But your journey will not be an easy one._

Even though she'd been called the term before, it was still a jolt to hear it confirmed. She'd almost wondered if she'd made the whole thing up after all.

 _Nothing worth fighting for is ever easy,_ Hermione countered. _I want to make Granger a powerful name up there with the rest of them._

 _Well, if nothing else, your ambition will find you in good company._ The hat seemed almost amused. _So if you insist…_

"Slytherin!"

Hermione hopped off the stool to the green table's applause, ignoring the scattered boos. She sat down next to Tracey Davis, who was next to Millicent Bulstrode – both already newly-sorted Slytherins. She offered both of them a smile, and she was gratified to see at least Tracey tentatively offer it back.

Greengrass, Daphne quickly followed Hermione, sitting down across from the other three girls with a dismissive sniff. Hermione watched Tracey's face fall slightly before she quickly schooled her features into a mask, and Hermione made a mental note.

 _Daphne's a bigot_ , she thought to herself. _No real surprise there – she's on that special list_.

Nott, Theodore joined the table, sitting next to Daphne, and Malfoy, Draco sat next to him. Parkinson, Pansy took her seat next to Draco, and Hermione was pleased when the last sorted (Zabini, Blaise) took a seat next to her, flashing her a smile. She was a bit disappointed none of the boys she'd met on the train made it into Slytherin (all three going to Gryffindor), but she'd be sure to catch up with them after classes.

The feast began, and Hermione did her best not to betray her surprise as food appeared on the tables. She served herself with her best manners, and as conversation began, carefully listened in.

"Weren't there two others?" Daphne asked, glancing down the table. "I counted ten sorted into Slytherin, not eight."

Blaise snickered, and Draco shot him a dark look.

"Goyle and Crabbe are sitting at the head with the prefects," Draco explained. "They got told off for fighting on the train."

Conversation turned toward everyone's hopes for the school year. Hermione was glad to see at least some of her classmates were taking their studies seriously – the boys she'd met on the train hadn't even opened their textbooks yet. Draco was eager for Potions, Theo was looking forward to Charms, and when Hermione offered that she was excited for Transfiguration, Theo had looked pleased and Draco had given her an approving nod.

"Transfiguration is challenging, but incredibly useful," Theo told her. "Be careful of the instructor, though – Professor McGonagall chooses favorites, and she favors her own house over the others."

"Her house?" Hermione questioned.

"Gryffindor," Draco said with a sneer. He gestured to the far table, with the students clad in red and gold. "Gryffindors and Slytherins don't get along, so be prepared for her to hate us all on sight."

"My mum said it's tradition for the Gryffindors to hate us," Tracey piped up. She offered Hermione a grin. "They think Slytherin is full of Dark wizards, and they all fancy themselves heroes. I wouldn't worry about it, though – it's not like a Gryffindor will ever be able to get the drop on a Slytherin."

"Slytherins stick together," nodded Theo. "We take care of our own."

Pansy glanced at Tracey, her pug nose sniffing in derision.

"And what did your dad say?" she said, her tone condescending. "Did he even know what Hogwarts was?"

Tracey fell silent, her eyes dropping to the plate. Hermione felt a flash of rage towards Pansy. Breathing steadily, she tried to keep her cool.

"And what are you?" Pansy said to Hermione, sneering. "Half? Quarter? Muggle?"

Hermione raised her chin, looking down at Pansy with as much contempt as she could muster.

"I'm New Blood, thank you very much," she informed Pansy.

Pansy, whose mouth had been half-opened with a prepared retort, paused.

"…new blood?" she questioned suspiciously. She glanced down the table quickly, then back to Hermione. "That's not a thing. You're lying."

Hermione sniffed with as much derision as Pansy had. "If the Parkinsons haven't taught their daughter about New Blood, that's hardly a reflection on _me._ "

Tracey and Daphne both snickered, and even Theo cracked a smile. Hermione was pleased to see Pansy's face flush with anger, but Pansy tossed her head and turned to Draco, asking if he planned on trying out for the Quidditch team.

As conversation gradually settled, becoming less confrontational and more casual once again, Tracey turned to Hermione, quizzical.

"New Blood?" she asked.

Hermione shrugged, nodding.

"A Seer told me herself," she said. "Which, of course, meant Slytherin was the only place for me."

Tracey nodded along slowly like she understood, but dropped the matter to quiz Millicent about her summer quickly enough.

After dinner, one of the Slytherin prefects called them all around to follow her to their dormitory. Hermione was mildly surprised to see that instead of up the stairs like the other houses, they were headed _down_. She hadn't thought the rumors of Slytherin House living in the dungeons were _true_.

After leading them through the corridors and deeper into the castle, the prefect paused in front of a perfectly normal-looking stretch of wall, raising an eyebrow to wait for everyone to catch up.

 _"Viper,"_ she said, and Hermione nearly jumped as the wall suddenly opened.

The prefect led them into a large, low room bedecked in green and black. There were tables scattered around on which to do homework, large plush chairs and couches around low tables, and hanging lamps that gave off a sort of bright, inoffensive green glow.

"Alright. Listen up." The prefect clapped her hands, and the murmuring died down. "My name is Jade Rince, and I'm a prefect. Other Slytherin prefects didn't draw the short straw, so they didn't have to help you all down here, but you can recognize them by their badges. All prefects wear a badge like this."

She tugged at the silver shield on her robes, before looking back up at them.

"Dormitories are off to the left – girls on the left, boys on the right. As first years, you'll be the first floor you come to. Your things have already been brought up, so there are just a couple things left to go over."

She fixed them with a sharp look, and Hermione saw Tracey flinch.

"You're in Slytherin house. That means you're in the best house," Jade said. "We're the house of cunning, of creativity, and of ambition. We have the drive to go as far as we want and reach our goals, and our goals are _always_ higher than those of the other houses. We usually win both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup, and I expect this tradition to continue." She gave them another significant look.

 _Right – win House Cup and Quidditch Cup._ Hermione made a mental note. _Got it._

"Because of this, the other houses generally don't like us," Jade said, sniffing. "This is why the first rule of Slytherin is the most important – Rule #1: _Slytherins stick together_."

"Slytherins stick together," they all murmured back. Jade nodded satisfactorily.

"A Slytherin is _always_ better than a student of another house," she said, tossing back her hair. "The other houses, though subconsciously, _know_ this, and they will resent you for it. Conflicts with other students are to be expected. Because of this, the second rule is also very important – Rule #2: _Don't get caught._ "

Hermione shared an amused look with Tracey, and, to her surprise, Blaise Zabini, who was shooting her a mischievous smile.

"So long as you don't get caught and don't leave proof behind, our Head of House, Professor Snape, will protect you from allegations from another student," Jade said. "He derives delight from it, but don't push him too far – it's better to remain _completely_ unseen, so there's not even a student accusation to deal with."

Hermione blinked. Jade was basically giving them free reign to retaliate against other students who bullied them. It was… a _new_ approach to bullying, to be sure. At her old schools, she'd always been encouraged to report any bullying activities to a teacher, who would handle it. The teachers never actually _did_ handle it properly, and telling a teacher often made the problem worse, but the expectation had been there – tell an authority figure, who would put a stop to it.

Here, Slytherins were expected to take care of problems and handle any such issues themselves. Hermione hid a small smile, looking down at her wand. While that kind of approach would never have worked at a Muggle school, where physical size was largely what determined the winner of an altercation, here at Hogwarts, everyone had _wands_. Size wouldn't matter – your magical skill would.

And Hermione intended to be the _best_ witch Hogwarts had ever seen.

"One more," Jade said. "Rule #3 – Slytherins are _the best_. Whatever it takes."

She gave them a fierce look, and they cowered as a group.

"Slytherin takes _pride_ in being the best. It takes work, it takes networking, it takes cunning, it takes cleverness. Whatever your goal, whatever it takes, you _reach_ it. Slytherins don't fail – they adapt, they re-evaluate, and they _get_ what they want."

Hermione saw Pansy's eyes gleam as she looked over at Draco, who was looking at Jade, his own eyes hungry with ambition. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her own eyes – it would figure that Pansy's highest goal was to latch onto a boy.

"I'm a prefect," Jade told them. She tossed her hair. "In two years, I will be Head Girl. I will beat out all the other girls for the position, because _I want it._ And I will stop at _nothing_ to achieve my goal."

She looked at them with a cross between pride and determination, and Hermione felt inspired herself, just looking at her. Hermione smiled up at her without realizing it, and to her surprised, Jade gave her a small smile back, before seeming to shake herself out of her moment.

"All right – that's the basics. Go ahead up to your dorms and get your things set up, and _try_ to get some sleep tonight if you can. Be down here for breakfast at seven sharp – the prefects will lead you up to breakfast. Do _not_ try to get to the Great Hall on your own." She gave them a smirk. "Otherwise, we will find your lost skeleton years later. Do _not_ try on your own."

She dismissed them, and they all scrambled to their dorms.

Hermione reached the dorm second, right after Pansy. The beds were arranged in a semi-circle, and with a screech, Pansy threw herself on the bed closest to the door, yelling, "This one's mine!"

Hermione quickly took the one the furthest from Pansy, entirely opposite, and the one closest to the bathroom door. As the others filtered in, Daphne took the one next to Pansy, Tracey took the one next to Hermione, and Millicent took the one that was left, dead in the middle. The girls all looked around, quietly judging that this arrangement was okay. Hermione felt a sense of relief at everyone's quiet approval of the sleeping arrangement – she hadn't wanted to have to fight for her bed.

Light conversation broke out as the girls arranged their things. Hermione's night stand had an intricate green stained-glass lamp and doubled as a small bookcase, and she put the books she thought she'd use the most on its shelves, as well as a couple favorites to fall asleep reading. Tracey was putting her hairbrush on her own nightstand, and Hermione was unsurprised to see Pansy chatting with Daphne and casting snide looks across the room, entirely unconcerned with arranging her things.

"Granger," she said suddenly.

Here it was.

Mentally gearing herself up, Hermione looked up.

"Yes?" she asked.

Pansy smiled sweetly, and Hermione nearly snorted. It was so overly saccharine and fake that she doubted such a smile would fool anyone.

"What did you say you were, back in the Great Hall?" she asked. "I've never heard of it, so perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining it to me?"

Hermione straightened her shoulders, putting a proud expression on her face.

"I'm New Blood," she said. "Judged so by both a Seer and the Sorting Hat."

Pansy and Daphne shared a look. Daphne looked mildly confused and intrigued, while Pansy looked disbelieving.

"But what does that _mean_ , 'New Blood'?" Pansy insisted.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"It means that my blood is destined to be the start of a new Great House," she told her, tossing her hair back. "It means that my magic was gifted to me by Magic itself, and isn't a spontaneous cropping up of magic through a dormant squib line."

"You were gifted your magic?" Tracey asked, her eyes wide.

"I was gifted with my magic _directly_ ," Hermione corrected. "Magic expects great things of me, for me to found a new Great House, and Magic has gifted me with the ability to use it more easily than others."

"Wait – not a squib line," Pansy said. "That means you grew up with _Muggles?_ "

Hermione didn't flinch, her nose in the air. "I did."

Pansy laughed incredulously.

"So you're just a Muggleborn," she denounced, laughing. "One with delusions of greatness, but a Muggleborn nonetheless."

Pansy exchanged a smirk with Daphne, but Hermione remained carefully unfazed.

"Muggleborns are born from squib lines," she informed her. "Squib lines that Pureblood houses have long since lost track of, but from connections to magical blood nonetheless. I am New Blood – a spontaneous outcropping of magic with no previous connection to magic at all."

Pansy rolled her eyes, and Hermione shrugged.

"Don't believe me if you want, but you'll see," Hermione promised. "All great houses had to have been founded somewhere, didn't they? Where did the founding Parkinson get _his_ magic? All great houses start with a New Blood somewhere."

Pansy laughed, but Hermione could tell that she'd managed to plant a seed inside her – Pansy was somewhat unsure.

"Anyway, let's all get to bed," Tracey suggested, her eyes darting from Hermione to Pansy to Hermione again. "We have class in the morning, and the last thing we want to do is not be at our best. Jade would kill us on our first day."

With murmurs of agreement, they all settled in to go to sleep, clicking their lamps out one by one.

As the others began to succumb to sleep, Hermione remained awake, her eyes staring up at the draped canopy of her four-poster bed.

She'd managed her first challenge – planting the seed with the other girls that she wasn't a Muggleborn. Even just a seed, a sprout of doubt, could blossom into full-blown belief if she managed to pull off what she was hoping to.

Hermione had read about the prejudice against Muggleborns. And she'd be damned if she became a witch just to hit a glass ceiling over and over again.


	2. Magic

_September 19, 1990 - Nearly one year prior_

 _._

 _._

"A witch?"

The tall, stern woman nodded again, and Hermione felt a current of excitement run up her spine. She _was_ different. She hadn't just been imagining it.

"What is a witch?" Hermione asked the woman.

The woman pushed her square glasses up her nose. "A witch, young lady, is a woman who can perform magic."

"Yes, but what _kind_ of magic?" Hermione pressed. "In some books, witches can cure sickness with herbs. In some, they can cast curses. In other ones, they dance naked under moonlight. In still others, they talk to devils and do evil things during the night."

The tall woman softened, her pursed lips relaxing slightly.

"I daresay witches do many of those things, though not the talking-to-devils part," she said, eyes flickering with amusement. "And I've never met a witch that admitted to dancing naked, let alone outside."

Hermione turned to her parents, practically bouncing with excitement. They both looked skeptical.

"And there's a school for this?" her father asked. "Where Hermione will learn to turn into a cat too?"

"If she works very hard, she might," the woman confirmed, and Hermione let out a small squeal of excitement, dancing around.

"Mum, Dad, you _have_ to let me go!" she exclaimed. "This is why those kids always ended up getting hurt – I'm _magic_ , and I was protecting myself!"

Her parents exchanged a meaningful look, but Hermione was too excited to care. Her parents had been discussing moving her into a new school again already, there had been so many incidents. They'd give in eventually. She knew they would.

"Professor McGonagall, what else will I learn?" she asked. "Are there spell books? Are there _grimoires?_ Is there an acceptance ritual? Do I join a coven?"

Professor McGonagall looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"There are spell books, yes," she told her. "First Year students will take Transfiguration, which I teach, as well as Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Dark Arts?" Hermione's father suddenly looked alarmed.

Professor McGonagall nodded, unfazed.

"There are magical creatures that you could never imagine that witches and wizards might encounter, and defense against them is crucial," she said, her voice firm. "There is also the matter of self-defense. Just as non-magical people have criminals and killers, so does the wizarding world. We have the equivalent of your police force to chase them and hunt them down, but knowing self-defense will only help a student as they go out into the world."

Hermione's mother was nodding slowly.

"My university required a basic self-defense course," she said. "This doesn't sound too different."

Hermione didn't _care_. She was going to learn magic-!

"Can I go now?" Hermione asked, bouncing. "Do I get to go now?"

Professor McGonagall looked down at her fondly.

"Unfortunately, your term has yet to start," she told her. "I have brought your acceptance letter, however, and I can take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies early, if you'd like."

She handed Hermione a letter, which the girl opened with reverent fingers, almost shaking.

* * *

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

* * *

Hermione paused.

"You communicate by owl?" she asked, and the woman nodded. Hermione went back to reading, before slowly gazing up at the tall woman with a look of dawning horror.

"September 1st?" she asked, panic slowly creeping into her voice. " _September first?_ But – but today is September 19th!"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Term always begins on the first of September."

"But- but then _I've missed it!_ " Hermione clutched her letter, horrified. "I'll- I'll be three whole weeks behind! Everyone else will be so far ahead of me already! I'll have to do loads of make-up work and-"

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, you are getting your letter quite _early_." She fixed Hermione with a look. "Students begin Hogwarts when they are eleven years of age, and not a moment before. _Your_ year of Hogwarts will begin in just shy of a full year."

Hope blossomed in Hermione's heart.

"So- so then I'm _not_ behind," she said slowly. "I can get my school books and start practicing magic now, right?"

McGonagall hesitated.

"It is highly unusual to give a Muggleborn student her letter so far in advance of their school year beginning," she said slowly. "It is usually done the summer prior to the start of term. However…" She looked uncomfortable.

"However?" Hermione prompted.

"…The Ministry of Magic, in light of your most recent Accidental Magic use, has judged that if you were made aware of your magic, you might be able to stem such accidents, so the Obliviation Team would not have quite so much work to do," she said, watching Hermione.

Hermione processed what had just been said.

"…so I get to learn about magic early because I stuck all the bullies together?" she asked.

"You get to learn about magic early because the Ministry deems a ten-year-old child who is able to spontaneously fuse the legs of three people into one single leg, and then _break_ that leg while she is running away as a threat," McGonagall said firmly. "That much magic to use uncontrolled, without a wand, is impressive indeed, but _dangerous_ to have running around. I will take you to get your things, help you get set up with a small study station, and we will give you a proper place to channel your magic into."

Hermione beamed up at Professor McGonagall, who offered her a small smile back. Even Hermione's parents were smiling now, seemingly relieved that Hermione's 'incidents' now had a solution.

Hermione was going to be a witch!


	3. The Bet

Breakfast the next morning was an odd affair for Hermione.

It was clear from the looks she was getting that Pansy had spread the story that she was claiming to be New Blood, not a Muggleborn. Draco was giving her subtle glances all through breakfast, and Theo Nott was openly appraising her, as if she were an antique.

Hermione, following the edict of "fake it 'til you make it", chatted with Tracy and Millicent about their schedule. Transfiguration and Defense against the Dark Arts were on the schedule for today, and Millicent was _not_ pleased with it.

"Starting the week off with Transfiguration?" she groaned. "It's one of the hardest classes. That'll be _great_."

"One of the hardest?" Hermione questioned, and Tracey nodded vigorously.

"Transfiguration has all these tiny wand movements, and each one means something different, plus you have to hold the transfiguration in your head as you do it… it's really hard," she said. "It's one of the most useful parts of magic, right after Charms, but only if you're _good_ at it, and it's hard to get good at it."

"Hey, Granger," Theo said suddenly. Hermione turned, raising an eyebrow.

"I bet I can master the first assignment in Transfiguration before you can," he said, giving her a challenging grin. Hermione felt a thrill as her eyes widened – finally, the first chance to prove herself. But was she ready?

"You're on," she bet, giving him a grin back. "What're the stakes?"

"If I win, you have to be my House Elf for a week," he told her. His grin was more malicious now. "You'll have to obey every order I make, and wear the outfit, too."

Draco and Blaise were sniggering now, sharing a mean look. Hermione hid her confusion. _House Elf…?_

"And if I win, you have to be my bodyguard and personal assistant for the week," she retaliated. "Carry my books, throw yourself in front of me to intercept deadly curses, that sort of thing."

Theo looked somewhat alarmed that she expected deadly curses to be thrown at her already, while Tracey and Millicent were giggling. With a glance back at his friends, Theo nodded.

"Deal," he said, sticking out his hand.

Hermione took it and shook, her eyes flashing with anticipation.

"Deal."

* * *

Professor McGonagall taught Transfiguration, Hermione had remembered, and she happily sat in the front row, ready to learn. McGonagall had been a force at her parents' home when introducing her to magic, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever be able to look on the woman with anything but gratitude and respect, even though she was the head of a rival house.

McGonagall, for her part, nodded briefly at her when she entered, though it could have been just a nod to the students at large. Hermione made sure her things were ready. She was sitting in the front with Tracey and Millicent to her left, though they'd complained when she'd dragged them to the front row. Slytherin shared this class with the Ravenclaws, and a boy called Anthony Goldstein was sitting to her right.

McGonagall launched into her lecture with no nonsense. After a brief definition of Transfiguration, she promptly turned her desk into a pig and back, garnering awed gasps from the crowd, including Hermione.

The rest of the class, however, was highly technical. She introduced the simple wand movements necessary for "basic" level transfigurations, and there were _sixteen_ of them. Hermione took meticulous notes, though she knew there was a reference chart in the back of her book. Sketching out the movement of McGonagall's wand as she demonstrated each gesture was a little easier to follow than the static ink-drawn pictures in the book, and she hoped it might help her more.

After demonstrating all the movements and explaining the right mindset necessary to complete a proper Transfiguration, she handed out matchsticks, and gave them their first assignment: turn the matchstick into a needle.

Hermione stared at the matchstick, almost aghast.

 _This_ was their first assignment? _This?_

This was the example covered in the third chapter of the book!

 _Please._

Knowing she needed to hurry to beat Theo, Hermione held the image of the matchstick transforming firmly in her head, wiggled her wand, and jabbed.

The matchstick transfigured into a needle.

Hermione smiled.

The needle was flawless. Hermione was pleased to see that she'd even managed to keep the eye of the needle big enough to fit a thread through it this time – that was the only part she'd struggled with when she'd practiced at home.

"Oh, Miss Granger-! Well done!"

Hermione looked up to Professor McGonagall standing over her. She picked up the needle and examined it, before dropping it back on the desk, where it made a soft _ting_ of metal.

"I have never seen a student succeed on this so quickly," she said, and Hermione thought there might be an undertone of pride in her voice. "Five points to Slytherin!"

A murmur ran throughout the class, and Hermione turned around in her seat to look at Theo, raising her eyebrows and shooting him an expectant look.

Theo was staring at her, his eyes huge.

Hermione blinked, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Theo didn't look away, and Draco and Blaise next to him were also looking at her with darting glances, whispering to each other.

"That's enough," McGonagall commanded, and the classroom fell silent. "Back to your assignment – let's see who else can get it."

Hermione turned back around in her chair, feeling uneasy, but McGonagall gave her a small smile.

"Let's give you more of a challenge to work on, shall we?"

There was a _thwock_ as a large wooden dowel hit her desk, and Hermione looked up at McGonagall in surprise.

"Transfigure this into a lead pipe," McGonagall instructed. "The basics for the transfiguration are the same – wood to metal, a hole in it – though the exact structure is different. The size will be more of a challenge – you will need to draw on your power more than I expect you needed to with the needle."

Hermione looked at the dowel. It sat on her desk intimidatingly, and she looked back up at McGonagall, hesitant.

"You'll get extra credit and points for Slytherin if you succeed, but don't worry if you don't – it's meant to be a challenge for you to work on and eventually overcome," McGonagall said. "You've already earned full marks for this class."

McGonagall walked away to circle through the other students, correcting wand motions and offering advice, while Hermione looked at the dowel.

Draw on her power…?

Hermione wasn't quite sure what that meant.

Focusing on the dowel, Hermione envisioned it Transfiguring, squiggled her wand and jabbed.

Just as she expected, the dowel lay on her desk, unchanged.

A larger piece of wood was bound to be harder to change. Hermione opted to not focus so much on succeeding, now, as trying to understand the other part of McGonagall's statement.

It made sense, in a way. Presuming McGonagall had been talking about magical power, it made sense in a way for Hermione to have a certain amount of magical power inside her that the wand was channeling out through her. The matchstick to needle hadn't seemed to take much – it'd been so little that Hermione had barely noticed it. But the dowel…

Focusing, Hermione attempted the transfiguration again.

This time, she could feel it, almost – something flowing out of her, attempting to encompass the wooden dowel, but falling short, and flowing back into her through the wand. It all happened so fast, it was hard to tell… but she felt like that had to be it. It had to be what McGonagall was talking about.

Hermione bit her lip. How was she supposed to use _more_ power? Was there a way to push more out automatically?

Hermione continued experimenting, unaware of both Anthony and Tracey shooting her wide-eyed looks as they struggled with their own matchsticks.

It seemed, to Hermione, that the only way to get more power out of her was to _push_ it out. There was nothing in her Transfiguration book about it, and Hermione guessed that maybe the "power level" she could use would go up automatically, like a muscle, as she practiced.

Her eyes narrowed. If her magic reserves _were_ like a muscle, it was possible she could push them past their normal capability, just like an Olympian weightlifter in the heat of the moment.

Hermione raised her wand.

The bell rang a moment later, and the class around her got out of their seats, brushing by her as McGonagall assigned 6 inches on the basics of wood to metal transfiguration. Hermione blinked, coming back to herself, before hurriedly gathering up her things into her bag and leaving, trailing after the rest of her classmates.

As McGonagall went around the classroom, picking up the matchsticks, some of which students had managed to turn kind of a shiny silver, she stopped in front of Hermione's desk.

Slowly, as if someone was playing a joke on her, she reached forward and picked up the shiny pipe from Hermione's desk. As if in a dream, she dropped it.

It made a _dong_ that reverberated within it when it hit the desk, and McGonagall made a strangled noise, as if she didn't know whether to laugh or gasp.

Taking the lead pipe and setting it aside, McGonagall finally allowed a smile to escape.

"Fifty points to Slytherin," she murmured, "for beating my own record in this class."


	4. The Prophecy

_September 20, 1990 - One year prior_

.

.

Diagon Alley was a _feast_ for her eyes.

Professor McGonagall was being very patient and tolerant with her, even as Hermione bombarded her with questions.

"Self-stirring? Does that mean that there's a spoon that's enchanted to stir the cauldron, or does the cauldron itself have an enchantment on it that causes a whirlpool inside it so everything gets stirred up?"

"It means an enchanted stirring rod," McGonagall said, without showing a trace of weariness. "Come – we're at Gringotts, the Wizard Bank."

Hermione turned her eyes to the huge white marble building, her eyes scanning the windows of the doors to read the ominous warning placed there.

"That's… very direct," she mused aloud. "Muggle banks don't have any threats written on the doors like this. I wonder if they should…?"

McGonagall tugged her through the doors. The sheer size of the bank, the teller desk, and the sight of the odd creatures manning the desks nearly sent Hermione into a faint.

"Goblins," McGonagall murmured in an undertone. "Don't insult them."

" _Goblins…?_ "

McGonagall led her over to desk with a goblin, who looked down at her with a nasty look.

"I am Bloodthorne," he informed her. Hermione hesitated.

"Pleased to meet you, Bloodthorne," Hermione said, offering him a small bow, her mind scrambling for any sort of etiquette that might be appropriate here. "I am Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you." She offered him a small, nervous smile. "I would like to change this Muggle money over to wizarding money, if it's not too much trouble…?"

The goblin looked down at her with a hard stare, before sitting back.

"No trouble at all," he told her, the nasty look on his face somewhat lessened. "Do you have bank notes or a check?"

Hermione scrambled to open her purse.

"Ah, a check. Is that alright?" She handed it over to Bloodthorne, who took it and examined it with a magnifying glass.

"It appears everything is in order," he told her. "Will you be wanting this in cash or placed in a vault?"

Hermione looked up at McGonagall, lost. "Ah… a 'vault'?"

"We will be needing to open a vault for Miss Granger today as well," McGonagall told the goblin, "but most of it in coin, if you please."

The goblin nodded. "Hand, please?"

Hermione reached over to him, and was surprised when instead of taking her thumbprint, he stabbed her with a small needle, drawing blood.

"Ow!"

"We need a blood sample to establish your vault," he told her. "Vaults are carried through family lines, and you are the first to establish your line."

Hermione looked at him curious. "Family lines…?"

Bloodthorne ignored her. "This check will get you 123 galleons and 6 sickles. We can open the vault by leaving the 20 galleons in it and give you the rest in coin. Is this acceptable?"

McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, when Hermione interrupted.

"I'm sorry to delay you, but can I see the exchange rate from galleons to pounds, please?"

Both Bloodthorne and McGonagall raised their eyebrows, but Bloodthorne wordlessly handed down a sheet of parchment for Hermione to look over.

Hermione squinted at the paper, searching for the information she was looking for. There weren't percentages noted – just how many pounds to the galleon the bank was currently offering.

"Professor, how much is a bottled drink in the Wizarding world?" she asked. "Or some other good that exists in both worlds?"

McGonagall considered. "A butterbeer is 2 sickles," she told her. "It'd be roughly equivalent to a beer at a muggle pub."

Hermione considered. "How many sickles to a galleon?"

"Seventeen."

Hermione considered, mentally scratching things out as she multiplied.

"…you're taking nearly twenty percent in the exchange!" she exclaimed. "That check is for 750 pounds – a perfect conversion would be roughly 150 galleons!"

The goblin sneered. "The price of doing business."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione insisted. "Standard exchange rates are 0.13!"

"Not in the wizarding world."

"I want at least 145 galleons," Hermione told him fiercely. "That's still nearly 5% pure profit for you."

Bloodthorne looked horrified. "I would _never_ -"

"It's just an exchange. Surely you'll make a profit over having me as a customer and using my account to hold water for your loans?"

Bloodthorne stopped short at that. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, a greedy glint sparking inside.

"…loans?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Do you… do you _literally_ just hoard piles of gold underground?" she said. She whirled around to face McGonagall. "Professor, how does this banking system work? I need to know what kind of-"

"Perhaps another day, Miss Granger," McGonagall said gently. "We have a lot we need to get done."

Hermione turned back to Bloodthorne, who was looking at her with a new respect in his eyes.

"Ten percent," he told her. "And you will come back to discuss this 'loan' business with me later, once you have settled into the wizarding world."

"Deal," Hermione said firmly, offering him her hand.

The goblin stared at her hand as if it were grossly offensive, and Hermione was afraid she'd made some horrible mistake, before the goblin grabbed her hand firmly and grinned.

He had a mouth full of very, very pointy teeth.

"Deal."

* * *

Flourish and Blotts was, by far, Hermione's favorite place in Diagon Alley.

There were so many _books_. It was incredible. And they were _spell books._

Well, some of them. Others looked like cookbooks. But still-!

Hermione barely restrained the urge to dance around in glee. Steadying herself to act in a normal manner, she set about finding her assigned textbooks.

Most of the textbooks were fairly easy to find – the store had a display in the back with what seemed to be standard textbooks for all the years. Hermione picked up her own, then, after a moment's hesitation, grabbed _The Standard Book of Spells_ for grades 2, 3, and 4 as well. _Intermediate Transfiguration_ went into her basket along with her assigned _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , and she grabbed _The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts_ and _Defensive Magical Theory._ She took _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,_ as well as _Book of Potions_ , and she grabbed _Perfecting your Potions_ from a nearby shelf to round out her collection, though it looked less like a textbook and more like a nonfiction guide intended for adults _._ As tempted as she was to grab more, Hermione knew that the others on the table looked a bit more advanced. She'd always be able to come back and get them later, right? It wasn't as if she wouldn't have access to buy spell books next year. She could come back whenever she wanted.

Hermione roamed around the store, looking for information on the wizarding world in general. She picked up a few history texts (one for ancient, one for 17th-20th centuries, and one for more recent history), as well as a couple on wizarding society in general. She was just considering which etiquette guide to get ( _The Finest of Fine Manners_ or _Pureblood Customs and Manners)_ when she was interrupted.

"You're New Blood."

Hermione turned to see a very pale blonde girl right behind her, standing almost too close to be appropriate. Her hair had an odd kink to it that made it sort of float around, and she was wearing earrings made of bottle caps.

Hermione stared.

"New Blood?" she repeated.

The girl nodded, and Hermione watched as the girl's eyes abruptly rolled back in her head. Her mouth opened, and her voice was not the airy, light tone she had used a moment ago.

" _The viper borne to Muggles shall be the New Blood to change the world  
By clearing the cluttered path with those who answer her call  
Whether gifted or claimed, true, faked, or false, pure magic unfurled,  
The she-serpent borne of teeth shall rise and triumph over them all."_

The girl's eyes swam before refocusing. She turned to face Hermione, who looked horrified.

"Did I do it again?" the girl sighed. "I'm trying to get better at channeling it through my conscious mind instead of subconscious. Did I at least get the New Blood part in?"

Wordlessly, Hermione nodded.

"Good," the girl said simply.

Hermione looked at the girl, who looked back at her, her eyes neutral.

"Are… are you quoting something?" Hermione said slowly.

The girl tilted her head.

"I don't think so," she said. "I mean, I'm not sure, because I don't remember what I said, but prophecies generally aren't quoted from something else. I've never heard of one being like that, at any rate."

"A- a _prophecy?"_ Hermione felt a sudden hand of terror squeezing around her heart. "You- you can see the future?"

The girl smiled. "Kind of?" she offered. "I can see bits and pieces of the most likely paths sometimes, but not entirely." She smiled at Hermione. "Don't worry – the future isn't predestined. You still have your free will."

Slowly, Hermione relaxed.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione told the girl, offering her a hand. "I'm going to Hogwarts next year."

"I'm Luna Lovegood," the girl told her. She put something into Hermione's hand instead of shaking it. "I'll be in Hogwarts the year after you."

Hermione turned over the object Luna had put in her hand to see an ugly sort of crystallized flower. She looked up at Luna quizzically.

"To ward off humdingers," Luna said, nodding. "Keep it on you to keep them away."

"…Thanks," said Hermione, pocketing it. "I'll be sure to keep it nearby."

Luna beamed at Hermione, and Hermione smiled back slowly.

"Luna," Hermione said suddenly, an idea abruptly occurring. "Do you know what other books I might need to take with me to school that aren't on the book list?"

Luna paused.

"…I don't know specifically, but I can suggest things that might be important for someone who wants to change the world?" Luna ventured. "Here…"

By the time Luna and Hermione were done, Hermione had both books on etiquette, a book called _The Pureblood Directory_ , a couple more books on Magical Theory and History, a book on modern laws and another on how the Ministry of Magic worked, and, to her shock, a book called _The Call of the Dark_ , as well as one called _Grey_ , both of which looked… ominous.

"It's important to be well-rounded," Luna said, helping her carry her books up to the front. "That means knowing about good as well as evil." She flashed her a small smile. "Just don't get caught!"

The man at the counter dully counted up her books, and when the total was announced, Hermione was immediately glad she'd come here last – she'd used up nearly all of her remaining funds. She was glad she'd argued with the goblin – the last twenty galleons had made a difference.

As her books were bundled up, Hermione looked at Luna and paused.

"…here," she said.

Hermione took off her charm bracelet and put it on Luna's wrist. Luna held it up in front of her face, looking at it curiously.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's… Muggle magic," Hermione told her. "Each charm represents something specific, and each will protect you or bless you." She showed them to Luna. "Right now, it has one for good luck, one for knowledge, and one for happiness. But you can get more, for whatever you want, out in the Muggle world."

Luna looked at Hermione and beamed. "I've never had Muggle magic before!" she said. "My Dad doesn't really ever venture out into the Muggle world, but I'll be sure to use your charms!"

"Hermione?"

"I have to go," Hermione told Luna, disappointed at hearing McGonagall's voice. She was excited to meet another witch her age, to learn what magical life might be like. "I'll- I'll see you in school?" she added.

Luna nodded, smiling. "In a couple years. We can be the best of friends."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she blinked rapidly, lest Luna see her tears.

She'd never had a friend at school before.

"Best of friends," Hermione told her, gripping her hands tightly, before grabbing her bags of books and hurrying out of the store. "Good-bye, Luna!"

"Good-bye, Lady Granger," Luna intoned, with a smile. "May Magic guide you as you follow your New Blood and found a Great House."

Hermione was confused at that, and as she leaned back to ask Luna another question, McGonagall pulled her back out onto the street, exclaiming at the number of books she'd purchased, and helping her fit them all into her new cauldron before they set off for home.

Hermione ran over Luna's words in her mind over and over and over.

 _New Blood?_

What did that even _mean?_


	5. Defense

Defense was shared with the Hufflepuffs, and was, quite frankly, a joke.

Professor Quirrell couldn't stop stuttering, and as he instructed them, he seemed terrified of his own subject manner. His lecture was awful and hard to follow, and about halfway through, Hermione stopped taking notes.

Quirrell had already given them the wrong instructions for two of the jinxes in the book that Hermione had already practiced and seen work. If he didn't know what he was talking about, what good was his course?

Idly, Hermione looked at the syllabus he'd handed out, checking to see if attendance was a grading factor like it was in Transfiguration.

"Tell me if he says what the homework assignment is," Hermione whispered to Theo. "I'm not listening to this prattle if I don't have to."

Theo gave her an astonished look as Hermione opened the textbook, hid it underneath her desk, and began to read.

Hermione hid her smile. She had approached Theo sweetly after lunch and insisted he carry her books for her to their next class, reminding him to block any incoming curses along the way. Blaise and Tracey had laughed uproariously, while Draco had watched on with a curious expression. Theo had scowled while Pansy outright glared, but he'd thrust his arms out accommodatingly and escorted her to Defense like a perfect gentleman, to Hermione's deep satisfaction.

When the class ended, Hermione swept up her books and jotted down the homework assignment (6 inches on methods to repel vampires) and looked at Theo, who was looking at her with dread.

"I'd like to go to the library for the rest of the afternoon," she told him. "Carry my books there?"

Theo made a face, but obligingly gathered up her books.

Hermione enjoyed the looks of shock, confusion, and satisfaction that flickered across other students' faces as they caught sight of Theo escorting her to the library. Any attention she could get at this point that made people wonder about her, Hermione figured, would help lay the groundwork for people thinking she was 'special'.

"Theo," she said, as they continued up the staircases, "why was it such a shock to you when I transfigured the matchstick?

Theo gave her a look, but this one Hermione couldn't read.

"Two reasons," he said slowly, watching her reactions. "First, it's supposed to be a difficult assignment. It's a challenge, and it's what we'll still be working on next class, if the prefects were telling the truth. It usually takes the week for people to master."

Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't realized that when Theo had made his challenge, he was thinking long-term, throughout the week. He'd probably planned to get ahead by working on it outside of class – not to achieve it first thing.

"Second," he said, his eyes holding hers, "is you're Muggleborn. You're not supposed to have strong magical power, at all."

Hermione scoffed. "First, I'm New Blood," she corrected. "Second, regardless of what I'm _supposed_ to have, I _do_."

"That's the thing," Theo said, his expression unreadable. "It generally works like this: Purebloods are the strongest; their blood is pure, and their magic has been passed down undiluted for centuries. Next are halfbloods; with half Muggle blood, you can't expect them to be as strong as a pureblood, no matter how hard they try. Muggleborns are the weakest, of course – their magic is just a fluke, and they'll never reach the level of a _proper_ witch or wizard."

"But you…" he cast his eyes over her, and Hermione fought the urge to flinch. "You mastered that challenge without a thought. It was like it was child's play to you – you didn't even hesitate. That's a kind of power that hasn't been seen in a while, even though it's just a first-year class."

Hermione gathered her nerve and looked at Theo directly.

"Maybe I'm telling the truth, then," she said, her eyes holding his. "Maybe when I say I'm New Blood, I'm not lying, like you all are so desperate to believe."

There was a poignant silence as she stared him down.

Theo broke eye contact first, looking away.

"Maybe so," he said, shoving her bag at her. "We're at the library. Am I dismissed?" He sneered.

Hermione grinned, and swept him a curtsey, or as best she could do in her school skirt.

"You're dismissed, Theodore," she said in her most regal voice. "I'll expect you at dinner to escort me back, of course, but otherwise, enjoy your free time."

Theo stalked away from the library, anger in his every move, and Hermione fought the urge to giggle as she went into the Hogwarts library, excited.


	6. The Hogwarts Express

_August 31, 1991_ \- _24 hours before the sorting ceremony_

.

.

When the summer was finally over, and the day finally came to pack up her things and get ready to go to King's Cross in the morning, Hermione couldn't contain her excitement as she ran around in a tizzy, making sure she had everything, double and triple-checking her list for all her books and supplies.

Her parents watched her from the sofa, her mother leaning against her father, one of his arms over her shoulder, holding her snug into his body. They both wore a nostalgic expression as they watched their daughter, fondness and love in their eyes.

"So what are you going to become now, if not the Prime Minister?" her father teased her. "A cat?"

"Dad!" Hermione objected. "A cat isn't a job!"

Her mother laughed.

"We're just curious, dear," she said, smiling. "What kind of jobs are there for fully-trained witches?"

" _Lots_ of things," Hermione said strongly. "There are so many I barely know where to start. I want to go to classes first and see what I like, and then narrow it down from there."

"You seem good at Transfiguration," her father remarked. "You've gotten the toothpick to turn into a needle."

Hermione scowled. "I still can't get the eye in it."

"It'll come," he dismissed. "What are some of these possibilities, Hermione?"

"Well, there are government posts, of course. They have someone like the Prime Minister – the Minister of Magic," Hermione explained. "So maybe that. There's also a governing legislature called the Wizengamot. It seems like it's mostly hereditary seats, so that might be harder."

"Would you like that?" her mother pushed. "Government work?"

"I have no idea," Hermione admitted. "I could become a Healer – a magical doctor." She sighed. "Maybe I'll just go on and get a mastery in something – it's like a PhD, but magical. And then I'll experiment with magic forever, and learn the limits of the universe…"

Her parents laughed.

"Well, so long as there are viable options, I suppose you have time to decide," her father said, grinning. "Be sure to write us once you're sorted, darling! We have a bet going on where you'll go."

Hermione looked up from putting her books away in her trunk, horrified. "You do?"

"We do," her mother confirmed, a smile playing around her lips. "And we won't tell you what houses we've bet on – it might influence where you go."

Hermione gave them a dirty look as she finished packing up her things, her parents laughing behind her.

* * *

Though she had been excited the previous night, now that she was standing on the platform, Hermione was nervous.

"I will miss you so, so much," she said, hugging her parents tightly. "I promise I'll write, and I promise I'll do well!"

Her mother stroked her hair fondly. "We have no worries about you doing well," she assured her. "Just… try to make friends there, too, love. Don't _just_ focus on your studies."

Hermione took a step back and took a deep breath, trying to settle herself. "Okay."

"And don't fuse anyone's legs together," her father reminded her.

"Dad!" Hermione's cheeks flamed.

He laughed.

"Have a good term," he told her, giving her a hug. "We'll see you at Christmas."

Hermione murmured her final goodbyes and turned to face the wall on the platform with her cart, steadying her heart. Putting utter faith in the magic, she strode forward strongly toward it, though she closed her eyes at the last moment, convinced she was about to crash.

She didn't. The sounds around her abruptly changed, and when she opened her eyes, there was a large train there, emblazoned with _The Hogwarts Express_.

She had done it.

Happily, Hermione set about getting her trolley onto the train so she could unload it. She had made her parents arrive purposefully early so she could get her bearings. It was heavier than she thought, and after fighting with it to get it up the ramp, she gave up and looked around for help.

"Hey! Hey, excuse me?"

The boy she called out to looked to be about her age, and was wandering around aimlessly on the platform, as if looking for something.

"Will you help me get my trunk onto the train?" she asked. "I can't quite get it myself."

The boy looked surprised at having been asked, but gamely came over, helping her lug it up the ramp.

"This is _heavy_ ," he said, gasping a bit. "What's _in_ here?"

"A lot of books," Hermione admitted. "I read a lot."

The boy offered her a shy smile.

"I like plants a lot," he said. "I'm looking forward to Herbology."

"Oh, you're a first year too?"

As they fought to get Hermione's trunk onto the train, Hermione learned that her new acquaintance was called Neville Longbottom, and was fairly clumsy, but very nice. He had accidentally lost his toad, Trevor, somewhere on the train when he was putting his own trunk on, and he was worried he had escaped onto the platform. He had grown up with magic, and he was from one of the Sacred 28 pureblood families. He was nothing like anyone else she had ever met, and she immediately decided that she wanted him for a friend.

"There!" she said, clapping her hands as they finally got the trunk settled. She turned to Neville and beamed. "Thank you!"

Neville blushed, rubbing his head. "It was nothing."

"Nevertheless, I really appreciate it." She smiled at him. "Let's go look for your toad now."

Neville looked surprised.

"You'll… come look with me?" he said, uncertain.

"Of course," Hermione said, surprised. "I'm going to help you. Isn't that what friends do for each other?"

A small smile touched Neville's lips, and Hermione didn't miss how his face colored.

"Friends," he murmured.

Hermione marched past him, taking control of the search. Together, they searched the entire length of the platform in a systematic way, ensuring that no toad could escape their gaze. It was a challenge once the platform started to get more crowded, but they managed.

Neville was crushed, but Hermione kept her head up.

"This is good," Hermione said firmly. "This means that Trevor is safely on the train. We can look for him while we're on the way to Hogwarts, and he's not in as much danger of being stepped on as he would be out here."

Neville looked mildly alarmed by that, but he allowed himself to be guided onto the train.

"My gran dropped me off early this morning," he said. "She- she had somewhere else she had to be. I'm glad she's not here. She'd be so disappointed to know I lost something already."

Hermione hesitated. If she wanted Neville as a friend, she'd need to be nice, not just say what was on her mind.

"Accidents happen," she said finally, firmly. "It will be okay, Neville. We'll find your toad."

She left unsaid ' _Why wasn't he in a cage?'_

It wouldn't be a helpful thought to express, she thought.

Once the train started, Hermione and Neville began systematically searching the train, starting at the back, working their way forward. Neville was unsure of disturbing compartments of older students, but Hermione pushed him to anyway – if his toad was important, surely it was important enough to overcome his shyness for.

Hermione had no problem putting her shoulders back, tossing her hair, and asking each compartment if they'd seen a toad. Most compartments just shook their heads no, but a couple smiled at her indulgently – what a precious little first year.

She scowled, after closing one such compartment door. Precious little firstie indeed. Maybe now, but she'd grow up in to someone powerful and important.

She opened the next compartment door. Inside were two boys who looked to be about her age. One was tall and gangly, with ginger hair and blue eyes. The other had dark, messy hair and green eyes. He looked underfed. They were both not wearing robes.

"Have you seen a toad?" she asked. "Neville's lost one."

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said the red-headed one. Hermione nodded absently, looking at his wand.

"Are you doing magic?" she asked. "Let's see it, then."

She sat down on the bench next to the black-haired boy. She was curious to see what the redhead could do and compare herself to someone else her age.

"Er – all right."

The boy cleared his throat.

" _Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

 _Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. His rat stayed asleep.

Hermione's first instinct was to point out that his rhyme wasn't a real spell at all, but she hesitated. Her mother had urged her to make friends, and she didn't want to be _unbearable_ here, did she?

"Where'd you get that spell?" she asked finally. "I've never heard of one like that."

The boy scowled.

"My brother," he said. "He was probably playing a joke."

Hermione considered the situation.

"No matter," she said diplomatically. "We'll be at school shortly, and I'm sure we can learn the real spell then, if you want."

The boy blinked, before looking at her with interest.

"Who are you, anyway?"

That was quite a rude way to ask for someone's name, but Hermione let it slide.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, inclining her head. "And you are…?"

"Ron Weasley," the redhead boy muttered.

"Harry Potter," said the black-haired boy.

"Are you really?" Hermione said, surprised. "…wait, I take that back. What a stupid question. Of course you know who you are. It just didn't occur to me that you'd be in my year in school. The books all glorified your infancy, and never really went into what happened after the fall of Voldemort."

Ron hissed on the seat across from her, but Harry looked interested.

"I'm in books?"

"Of course – you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. You're also in _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. They all pretty much say the same thing, though," she said, shrugging. "Voldemort came to kill you, couldn't, and was somehow vanquished."

She looked at him for a long moment, looking at his scar, and Harry looked uncomfortable. Hermione bit her lip, considering.

"Well, the books didn't tell me anything really important, like what you were like," she said, offering Harry a smile. "Tell me, Harry – are you excited for Hogwarts?"

Gradually, Harry started to relax, and the three started talking. When Neville trailed back up the train, Hermione pulled him in with her, and the four chatted. Ron was excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, while Neville was looking forward to Herbology. Harry didn't really seem to have a grasp of the classes, so talk soon turned to houses.

"I hope I'm in Gryffindor," Neville told them, "but I bet I get Hufflepuff. My Dad was in Gryffindor – I think my gran will be disappointed if I go anywhere else."

"All my brothers are in Gryffindor," Ron said. "That's probably where I'll go. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Hermione stiffened.

"That's the house Vol- I mean, You-Know-Who was in?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron confirmed.

"A lot of Dark Wizards come out of Slytherin," Neville added.

Hermione couldn't hold her tongue any longer.

"Merlin was in Slytherin," she told them. "So were five of the last seven Ministers of Magic. A particular house doesn't mean you're a Dark Wizard."

Ron shot her a look. "All of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters came out of Slytherin," he told her.

"That's a lie," she shot back. "Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, Carlisle Selwyn was a Ravenclaw. Maybe more came from Slytherin, but that makes _sense_ , if that was Voldemort's house – they'd have been his _friends_ , wouldn't they?"

Ron and Neville had both shuddered at her casual use of the word _Voldemort_ , but Harry looked thoughtful.

"That makes sense," Harry said. "If there was a house of all Dark Wizards, they'd probably just shut it down."

"Why do _you_ care?" Ron sneered. "You said your parents were muggles. Slytherin's full of blood purists, so it's not like you'll end up there."

Hermione held her tongue back from lashing out. Now would not be the time to pick a fight, or to explain about being New Blood. These boys weren't about to listen, anyway.

"I just think it's unfair to be prejudiced against an entire house for the actions of a few individuals," she said carefully. "What if one of us ends up in a different house than the rest of us? I want us all to still be able to be friends."

She gave them a small, hopeful smile, and Neville returned it.

"I'll still be your friend, if you'll have me," Neville said. "Even if I'm in Hufflepuff."

Ron and Harry glanced at each other and nodded, then nodded back to Hermione.

"We're friends now," Harry pronounced. "Houses don't matter. We can always hang out outside of class, right?"

"Of course." She smiled, and he smiled softly back at her.

There was a pause, before Hermione remembered.

"Legs rested enough, Neville?" she asked, standing and stretching. "We still need to find Trevor."

Neville nodded, getting to his feet. Hermione glanced back at Harry and Ron.

"We're probably getting close. You might want to put your robes on soon," she advised. "We'll be seeing you."

The search for the toad continued to be unsuccessful. With a sigh, Hermione and Neville agreed that maybe it'd be easier for someone to search the train after all the students were gone, and they headed back to the compartment they'd shared with Harry and Ron.

"-don't want to be in _his_ house," Harry was saying as they entered.

"He'll be in Slytherin for sure," Ron told him darkly. "Malfoys were all on the Dark Side. No question."

Hermione held back the urge to laugh at Ron's mention of "the Dark Side," imagining for just a moment that Ron spoke the phrase in Darth Vader's ominous tones. She bit back a grin; anyone who feared Lord Voldemort so much that they couldn't speak the name aloud probably wasn't ready to hear about the terrible Lord Vader.

"You met Malfoy?" Neville said, taking a seat.

Harry explained the altercation he'd just had with Draco Malfoy and his two goons. As he talked, Hermione's heart slowly sank. They were going to have an even _lower_ opinion of Slytherin House now. If she did end up sorted there, she'd have to make sure they saw _her_ , and not the color of her tie, in order to stay friends with them.

Hermione had never had friends before. She didn't want to give these first ones up.

Despite that, though, Hermione knew if she needed to, she would. She had plans, and rumors to whisper and connections to make. She knew Slytherin would help her reach her greatness, and if that meant she had to cut ties with her first friends, she would.

The rest of the train ride, Neville and Ron were animatedly explaining Quidditch to Harry, and Hermione let the gentle rocking of the train lull her into a doze, filled with dreams of lions, snakes, and eagles, all fighting in some magical valley far, far away.


	7. The Library

There were _books!_ There were books upon books upon _books_ , and Hermione could hardly stand it. All of that magic! All of that knowledge! Just _waiting_ for her!

Forcing herself to calm down, Hermione focused on her mission: figure out what McGonagall meant by "power reserves". It sounded important, and like something so basic that it might be assumed that everyone already knew what it was.

It took Hermione a while to work out the library's organization and filing system, and she was grateful when she finally found a card catalog. Moreso, the card catalog was enchanted, each card leading her directly to its book, and Hermione had quickly amassed three books that looked promising.

As she headed to a table, she was surprised to see two others in the library.

"Harry! Neville!"

Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom looked up at her, surprised, and she hurried over to sit with them. Madam Pince, the librarian, shot them all a glare, and Hermione quickly lowered her voice.

"I'm so excited to see you again," she said. "How are you? How is your first day going?"

Harry and Neville exchanged a slow look, before Harry spoke up.

"We had Defense and Charms so far," Harry told her.

"Charms was kind of fun," Neville ventured. "Professor Flitwick is really nice. He showed us how to make the ends of our wands glow. None of us quite got the hang of it, but he just told everyone to practice it for homework instead of assigning an essay, so that was nice."

Hermione shot him a smile. "That sounds nice," she said. "Transfiguration was pretty intense. You're lucky you got something simple on your first day."

She smiled at them, and slowly, Harry and Neville started to smile back.

"What did you think of Defense?" Harry asked. "Quirrell said that he had the Slytherins right after us."

Hermione immediately made a face.

"He's an _awful_ teacher," she proclaimed. "All the jinxes he went over? He did them wrong. I double checked him in two different books. And his lecture was _terrible._ I stopped listening halfway through."

Harry and Neville grinned at her.

"I thought he was awful, too," Harry said. "Just being in the same classroom as him lecturing gave me an awful headache-"

"Guys! I got them—what's _this?_ "

Hermione looked up to see Ron Weasley standing over them with two books on vampires, glaring down at her.

"I go to find books, and you guys start associating with a _Slytherin?_ " he spat, and Hermione was struck by the venom in his tone.

"What are you talking about, Ron?" Hermione said, shocked. "We all sat on the train and talked together. It's not like you don't know me."

"That was before you were sorted into _Slytherin_ ," he said, sitting down next to Harry in a huff. He folded his arms and proceeded to glare at her, and Hermione paused, uncertain how to handle such unexpected rancor.

"I'm still the same person I was when we were all talking and laughing on the train," she said slowly. "Does the color of my tie really matter so much?"

"It does if it's green," Ron said firmly, and Hermione sighed.

"Why?" Hermione said. "What do you have against Slytherins?"

Ron's eyes flashed, and Hermione immediately regretted asking.

"Slytherins are all a bunch of self-serving snakes," he said. "All of You-Know-Who's followers? They all came from Slytherin. All Dark Wizards come from Slytherin, and Slytherins are famous for doing awful pranks to the other houses and not getting caught. They're all fighting for the top spot, and they betray anyone they have to so they can get there. They cheat at Quidditch, too, and they're Pureblood elitists, who want to eradicate anyone who's not a Pureblood."

He snarled this last bit, and Hermione blinked.

"…you do realize that my parents are Muggles, right, Ron?" Hermione asked slowly.

Ron's eyes fell on her, confusion coming to them, as he slowly settled down from his rant.

"Your parents-?"

"Both muggles. Dentists," Hermione said, nodding to Harry. "I don't know about the others, but _I'm_ certainly not going to go on a campaign to eradicate _anyone_ , for any reason _,_ but _especially_ not for blood status."

Ron was looking at her with obvious confusion on his face now.

"Then- how'd you get sorted into Slytherin?" he asked, bewildered.

Hermione shrugged. "Probably because I'm ambitious," she admitted freely. "I always had high career aspirations as a child, and that hasn't changed – I just have magical goals now."

Carefully, she offered him a small smile.

"If you think all Slytherins are snakes who betray each other, can you consider that I'm 'betraying' them to come and hang out with you?" she asked. "Most of the Slytherins don't want to talk to me because my parents are Muggles."

Harry's eyes jerked to hers, widening.

"They're not talking to you?" he said, green eyes bright.

Hermione nodded, then paused.

"Well, except to make fun of me," she said. "Theo Nott challenged me to a bet, earlier, on who'd complete the Transfiguration assignment first, saying I'd have to be his House Elf for a week if I lost, and dress up in the uniform and everything."

Harry's eyes didn't change, but Ron and Neville gasped with horror.

"He didn't," Neville whispered, his eyes wide. "He did that to a fellow Slytherin?"

Hermione blinked, somewhat confused. "Yes. Over breakfast. Luckily, I won the bet, but he still challenged me. I get the idea that I'm missing something, though. What's a House Elf?"

Neville grimaced, while Ron shuddered.

"They're these half-size, ruddy little things," he said. "They do all the rich Purebloods' scut work. And they wear these gross tunic things, like a pillowcase with holes in it. They're filthy all the time."

Hermione's eyebrows rose until they couldn't climb any further onto her head.

"He wanted to make me his _slave?_ " she said, her voice somewhat shrill. "He wanted to make me wear a _pillowcase?_ "

A sharp command from Madam Pince paired with a harsh glare had them all quieting down, but Hermione still felt enraged.

"I didn't realize it was as bad as all that!" she said, furious. "I don't feel nearly so bad for making him carry my books now for losing the bet. And wizards have _slaves?_ "

"They're not really slaves," Neville said quickly, looking down. "They're… they're a different species. They _like_ the work. They live off of the bond they have to the family they serve, though some families abuse them. But it's not that bad, Hermione. Really."

Neville was looking at her hesitantly, and Hermione wavered, before finally settling down in a huff.

"Well, alright then," she said. She shot Ron a look. "Are we all going to work on our Defense essays together, or are we going to go on about how the Slytherin Muggleborn isn't allowed to sit with you anymore?"

Ron looked ashamed, and he cracked open a book without another word.

"I can't believe he gave us homework the first day," he groaned, and Hermione took the other book from him.

"We'll be fine," Hermione said confidently. "Six inches is barely two paragraphs. We'll be able to get this done before dinner."

* * *

Hermione finished her "essay" within half an hour – six inches was _nothing_ , even if she shrunk her handwriting to try to get in enough detail. While her compatriots groaned and poured over the books she'd left out, Hermione had cracked open one of the books she'd found, _The Powerful and the Pitiful_ , and begun to read.

It was a fascinating read. The book dealt with the difference between powerful wizards and pathetic wizards – and, thankfully, barely mentioned blood status at all. Most of the difference seemed to come down to level of magical skill, but there seemed to be an assumed undertone that Hermione could pick up on.

As far as she could tell, wizards and witches had sort of a "magical reserve" inside of them, that contained their magical power. More powerful wizards had a larger reserve, while less powerful wizards had a smaller one. The book seemed to assume that the reserve grew with age, but there was no outright statement of what made one wizard have a larger magical reserve than another.

Hermione found this curious but interesting, and highly promising. If one of the characteristics of a powerful wizard was literally "lots of power," it seemed like that could be gained. Hermione suspected that a person's magical reserve got bigger not just from growing older, but from drawing on it consistently while learning magic, thus exercising it like a muscle. If Hermione could find spells that used unusually large amounts of power for her age group, and use them consistently (perhaps before bed), she could "exercise" her own well of power and grow it at a faster rate than her peers.

…well. That was the idea, anyway, Hermione thought ruefully. She didn't _actually_ know if that was how it worked.

But it certainly couldn't _hurt_.

"Granger?"

Hermione looked up to see Theo, who was smirking at her from nearby. He gestured to the nearby clock, and Hermione leapt to her feet.

"Dinner time," she told the others, her voice musical. "I'll see you later!"

Hermione scooped up her three books and checked them out with Madam Pince, before slinging them into her bag. She didn't want Theo to see the titles – it'd be better if no one knew she was _working_ on becoming more powerful.

This time, Theo took her bag with no resentment, and to her surprise, offered her his arm as they went down the stairs.

"Why, Theo," Hermione remarked, pleased. "How gentlemanly of you."

Theo rolled his eyes. "I know my manners. I was raised a Pureblood, after all."

As far as Hermione could tell, the expectations upon Pureblood men seemed to be those of Da Vinci's ideal Renaissance man – perfectly trained in _everything_.

"You didn't extend them to me earlier, though," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "What changed?"

There was a silence as Theo led her down the stairs.

"I overhead McGonagall talking to Sprout," he said abruptly. He looked at her sideways. "…you managed to change that dowel into a pipe?"

Hermione's face flushed, and she squirmed.

"Only at the very end, and it wasn't lead," she admitted. "It was too shiny for lead, and not heavy enough. Maybe steel or aluminum?"

A smirk flickered on Theo's lips.

"That's what you're worried about?" he remarked, amused. "Not the fact that you were able to transfigure that as a First year?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to?" Hermione tossed her hair. "Professor McGonagall told me to. She said she'd give me points if I managed it."

"Apparently, you beat McGonagall's own record in transfiguring that," Theo told her, enjoying the way Hermione's eyes grew wide. "McGonagall wasn't able to do that until her fourth class. Dumbledore managed it on his third."

There was a silence.

"She did give us points for it though, right?" Hermione ventured. "She wasn't mad that I beat her record?"

"Quote the opposite. She seemed proud of you, even though you're a Slytherin," Theo told her. "And she gave you _fifty_ points for Slytherin. _Fifty._ The most anyone else has earned so far in one go has been five."

Theo led her back up a staircase and down a hallway, avoiding Peeves throwing water balloons at students as they screamed and scurried down the stairs.

"So now you believe me, is that it?" Hermione said. "You heard what I did, and you think I'm powerful now, so I must not be a Muggleborn?"

Theo gave her a slow look.

"I've never heard of this New Blood thing, but it makes sense," he admitted. "All the houses started from _somewhere_. And there hasn't been a new one in _ages_ , so it makes sense it'd be hard to find knowledge about them in books, especially if you weren't hunting directly _for_ it. So I'm willing to suspend my disbelief," he told her, and Hermione tried to hold back her surprise. "If nothing else, I've been taught to respect power, and you've already proven you have that in spades."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"And the others…?"

Theo smirked.

"Blaise never cared what your blood status was – he cared that you were Slytherin, female, and attractive," he told her, and Hermione flushed. "And Tracey and Millicent are in no situation to be making any judgements about blood status. Daphne is holding out to see what else you can do, as is Draco – they're not willing to make a call about what level of power you have just based on one class, though they didn't overhear what I did. And Pansy? She's not likely to accept you anytime soon – she likes being on top, and she's not going to be keen to give that up."

"If they're not ready to make a call yet, why are you?" Hermione asked, suspicious, and Theo smirked.

"If I support you, and you turn out to be super powerful, I've established myself as a trustworthy confidant and friend from the very beginning," he told her, eyes glinting. "If you don't, I've got enough status as one of the Sacred 28 that my youthful indiscretion will be entirely forgotten, and it won't hurt me past, say, third year at the most."

Hermione laughed.

"You're the perfect Slytherin," she said aloud. "Scheming and making connections already."

"Thank you." Theo swept her a bow as he held open the door to the Great Hall. "Now… dinner, my lady?"

Hermione smirked. "Lead the way."


	8. Preparing

_December 1990 - 8 months before Hogwarts_

.

.

'New Blood', Hermione determined, wasn't a thing.

It was December, and Hermione had finally finished all the extra books she'd bought at Flourish and Blotts. Hermione was glad she had the extra year before starting, and that Luna had guided her to some books she wouldn't have considered herself – they were the books that helped her realize what she was up against. The books talked about Pure Blood, they talked about Half Blood, and they talked about Muggleborn. One even called Muggleborns 'Mudbloods', which kept in with the theme of 'something-blood', Hermione supposed. But none of her books mentioned New Blood at all.

But Luna had been _very_ specific. She'd called her 'New Blood'. And she'd repeated it three times.

From what Hermione could derive from her books, being 'New Blood', whatever it was, had to be better than her other option – being a Muggleborn.

Her history books told her about the recent Wizarding War, where an evil wizard called 'Voldemort' (though he was typically referred to as 'You-Know-Who', which Hermione thought overly dramatic) had recruited followers and attempted to eradicate the wizarding world of Muggleborns. Though Voldemort had been defeated (or had disappeared, as one book suggested), Hermione got the distinct feeling that Muggleborns were still prejudiced against in some parts of society. _The Pureblood Etiquette Guide_ , for example, offered a section on how much to scowl at a Muggleborn if one touched you, depending on the societal status of the person and whether or not they smelled.

Hermione already knew she'd be going into the Wizarding World at a disadvantage, having not grown up with magic, but to go in facing such prejudice?

It seemed cruelly unfair.

If 'New Blood' _wasn't_ a thing, Hermione would _make_ it a thing, she decided.

After turning the word over and over in her head, Hermione decided on what New Blood would be.

New Bloods would be when Magic itself gifted a person, and they would be destined to found their _own_ Great House (whatever a Great House consisted of). A New Blood would count as a Pureblood, because magic blessing them would make them 'pure', so purebloods wouldn't be able to discriminate against them. And a New Blood would be astonishingly powerful and an amazing witch or wizard, and everyone would be envious of their powers.

That way, Hermione shouldn't have to face the disadvantage of this stupid blood prejudice, once she established herself. Then, she could try and right any wrongs and unfairness from the _inside_ instead of the outside. That was always easier. As a New Blood, she would be someone _valued_ in this magical society, not someone despised.

Or that was the plan, anyway.

Hermione looked down at her written definition, gnawing on the end of a pen. Her definition assumed that all other Muggleborns were products of long-lost squib lines, but Hermione thought it plausible – it seemed from the books that Purebloods were ashamed of squib children and sent them away into the muggle world, so no one would ever really be able to _check_ and see if Muggleborns came from squib ancestors.

It also assumed that as a New Blood, she would be very powerful. Hermione bit her lip at that one.

Well, she'd just have to make sure she became very powerful, then, wouldn't she?

* * *

Hermione's mother, Jean Granger, was amusedly humoring her daughter the week before Christmas by taking her to London. Hermione had insisted that it was crucial that she take care of some 'magic things' so she wouldn't fall behind in her studies, and Jean had acquiesced to accompanying her through London as a Christmas treat.

They were now standing on a perfectly average street, though, that did not seem to have anything special, but Hermione was insisting there was a pub between a bookstore and another shop.

When Hermione took her hand and _dragged_ her in, Jean was surprised to realize there _was_ a store there – a dingy sort of pub, that- _was that a troll drinking whisky?_

Hermione was talking to the barkeep, who nodded and gestured, and then Hermione led her mother over to a large fireplace.

"We're going to travel to the Ministry of Magic this way," Hermione told her mom, gnawing on her lip anxiously. "I've never done it, but I've read all about it, so this should work."

Jean eyed the fire apprehensively. She could feel its heat on her face.

"Hermione," she said gently. "I know your magic can do many things, but…"

Hermione was clearly ignoring her, reaching up on tiptoes to grab a handful of what looked like sparkly dirt from a flower pot, which she threw into the flames.

Jean gasped as the flames turned emerald, and Hermione grinned up at her mom, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the fire.

"The Ministry of Magic!" she cried, and Jean lost her breath as they were abruptly swept away.

* * *

Hermione was quite pleased with herself.

First, she'd gone to register her house on the Floo Network. This involved filling out a form with her address, having her mother sign it, and showing the clerk a piece of mail addressed to her mother at their address. Hermione had brought just such a thing, to her mother's consternation, but the bored Ministry employee had acknowledged that yes, Jean Granger really lived there, which was all that was needed. A fee of 3 sickles later, the Granger household was linked up to the Floo Network, and Hermione was nearly bouncing with glee.

Next, Hermione dragged her mother to the Office of Underage Magic. After quickly explaining what needed to happen here, Hermione watched as her mother straightened her back and adopted a haughty, insulted expression, took Hermione's wand, and marched into the office, demanding that her house be listed as a Magical Household.

The Ministry worker looked shocked, but Hermione's mother insisted that she'd just moved, that her new address somehow hadn't been registered, and that she refused to get warning letters for casting magic in her own household. She held the wand threateningly at the worker (even though she couldn't use it), and the worker, upon seeing the house was already linked up on the Floo Network, and therefore clearly a magical household, filed the correct paperwork to register it as a magical household, removing it from the Trace.

Now, she could practice her spells. She'd be able to actually _do_ magic, not just practice thinking the incantations and tracing her wand through the air. And the Ministry would be none the wiser.

When they left, Hermione was nearly skipping with glee.


	9. Potions Class

Herbology was the first class on Tuesday, which went rather well. There wasn't much to do to succeed in Herbology except learn and memorize _everything_ , which Hermione felt confident she could do. She doubted she'd ever show much natural talent in the class, but she was sure she could at least perform to be in the top ten in the subject, if tested, and that was probably all she needed to get by. Hermione had noticed Professor Sprout lurking around her, beaming at Hermione anytime she looked up, and Hermione had to fight to not be unnerved. She knew it was because McGonagall had talked to her, but how was Hermione supposed to show aptitude with this? They were re-potting plants!

After lunch, History of Magic was a bore. Professor Binns was a ghost, and had a hollow, empty monotone that made it difficult to figure out where the point of his statements was hidden. Hermione had gotten so frustrated she'd gone up and asked for a course syllabus after class, so she could study the material more on her own time. The ghost had blinked in surprise, but directed her to the second drawer in his desk. Hermione had pulled out an aging, crumbling syllabus, but it was enough – she thanked him and left the class.

There was Astronomy that night, which Hermione enjoyed – she'd learned the planets and the constellations when she was young, and she liked collecting point after point for Slytherin as she fielded every question. She was careful not to raise her hand, and to maintain the bored, disaffected manner that she'd seen all the other Slytherins wear, but she couldn't help but feel proud and warm inside as Professor Sinistra praised her.

The next morning was a free period, to allow them to recuperate from being out so late the night before. Most of the Slytherins were sleeping in, but Hermione enjoyed the alone time to linger over breakfast with _Perfecting Your Potions_. She was fairly sure they wouldn't be assigned a potion too difficult for their first class, so all she could do was focus on brewing her potion as perfectly as possible. The prefect had said that Professor Snape, their Head of House, would come to bat for them to protect them from bullies and accusations. More than anything, Hermione didn't want to let him down.

Hermione arrived at the Potions classroom promptly, with Theo as her escort, only to discover the work stations seemed to be set up in pairs – clearly, two people would work on one cauldron.

Hermione bit her lip. There were ten first-year Slytherins, and this class was shared with Gryffindor. Tracey and Millicent would presumably work together, Crabbe and Goyle never left each other's sides (or Draco's, for that matter). Draco would probably work with Pansy, as Hermione doubted Pansy would let go of his arm long enough to let anyone else get close, which left Blaise, Daphne, and Theo.

"Partners?" Hermione asked Theo. Theo raised an eyebrow.

"Your ability in Potions is still untested," he said, his voice wary.

"Part of your bodyguard duties, then," she shot back with a smirk. "The Gryffindors are in this class with us. Should one of their cauldrons explode, it's your sworn duty to shield me."

Theo smirked back at that, and amenably set up his work station next to hers.

"You're lucky – I've helped my father with potions before," he told her quietly, as other students began to file in. "We should be able to pull this assignment off without much trouble."

When Professor Snape swept into the room, Hermione caught her breath. His cloak billowed behind him, and Hermione found herself appreciating his flair for the dramatic as he introduced potion-making to them in an enchanting, if foreboding, speech. She leaned forward in her seat, unconsciously trying to catch every word.

She was caught off-guard when he began interrogating Harry with ingredient questions. She knew the answers, but judging from the twisted hatred emblazoned on Snape's face, Snape didn't seem to actually _want_ the answers, so Hermione opted not to interfere.

Both Hermione and Theo relaxed somewhat as Snape turned and gave instructions to collect ingredients and open their books to make a Boil Cure potion, as he turned to the board to write down the most common mistakes.

Theo went off to get ingredients, while Hermione opened her book, and paused.

There were instructions on how to make a Boil Cure potion in their textbook, _Magical Drafts and Potions._

There were _also_ instructions on how to make a Boil Cure potion in the more advanced textbook she'd bought, _Book of Potions_ , though they were fairly vague.

Hermione bit her lip, torn. On the one hand, the more advanced book would clearly result in a better potion. However, the recipe was _vastly_ more complicated, and she doubted her ability to brew it correctly on her first try.

When Theo returned, Hermione quietly showed him both books, and Theo turned to Hermione sharply.

"There's no way we'll ever manage the second one," he said in a whisper, as he began to crush the snake fangs. "But…"

"We can add some of the ingredients to enhance our own," Hermione finished. Theo gave her a slow nod.

As Theo worked on crushing the snake fangs with the mortar, Hermione filled the cauldron with water and carefully compared the two recipes, cross-referencing the new ingredients from the harder recipe with _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi_. While she ruled out using shrake spines (she had no idea how to "not over excite" them, as the book said) and flobberworm mucus (she wasn't quite sure what it did, but it seemed to condense the brewing time), pungous onions when combined with horned slugs and ginger had an enhancing effect on healing properties.

It was with great care to be subtle and unseen that Hermione began carefully slicing a few pungous onions, worried about keeping their pungent scent from leaking out into the classroom. Luckily for them, the stink of Longbottom's potion was overruling any other possible smell, and no one seemed to notice the smell of some onions nearby.

Theo watched her carefully as she added the onions, then added a measure of dried nettles to the potion before they set it to boil briefly, and then simmer for a measure of time.

Snape was patrolling the room, looking at students' potions, frequently deducting points for incorrect brewing and mistakes, though deducting fewer from the Slytherin side. Crabbe and Goyle lost five for somehow ending up with a bright blue potion instead of a slowly-enhancing pink, and Malfoy even lost one – he clearly hadn't crushed his snake fangs into a fine enough powder.

When Snape came over to their desk, Hermione was doing her best not to quake in her boots. She'd hidden her other books, but it was obvious something was different with their potion – it was a much deeper shade of pink than the others'.

As Hermione watched Snape, his eyebrows rose, and there was a definite moment of surprise as he regarded their cauldron. It was but a second, and the emotion was quickly masked, but when Snape moved on without a word, Hermione could feel herself let out a breath of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She shot Theo a quirked smile, which he returned with a smirk.

When the simmering time was done, Hermione sprinkled in some powdered ginger root and stirred the cauldron vigorously when Snape's back was turned, while Theo prepared the horned slugs and carefully added them to the cauldron. Together, they managed to take their cauldron off the fire before slipping their porcupine quills into the potion. Theo stirred it, and Hermione waved her wand over it, and they were both pleased to see a magenta potion cooling in their cauldron, a pink steam rising from it – just as the book had described.

Hermione watched around the room. Neville had forgotten to take his cauldron off the flame before adding the quills, causing his cauldron to melt, and the room smelled horrible. The Gryffindors near him were scrambling to get away from the creeping mixture, and Snape seemed to take great delight in shaming Neville and castigating him for his mistake before finally waving his wand and cleaning up the mess.

"Ours is a deeper pink than the book describes," Theo told Hermione with a frown.

"Well, we didn't do exactly what the book describes, did we?" Hermione murmured. "Let's wait and see what Snape says."

At the end of class, Snape told them each to bring up a labelled flask of their potion for him to grade. Hermione carefully filled a flask and printed her and Theo's names on it in bold, clear letters, before trotting up to lay it on his desk.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione turned, Snape's eyes on her. They were pitch black, and they glinted in the dim light.

"You and Mister Nott – stay after class."

Hermione swallowed.

"Yes, sir."

It was on shaky legs that Hermione made her way back to their work station. Theo looked at her with alarm when she told him Snape's instructions, but he squared his shoulders.

"Even if he fails us this assignment, it's the first one of the year," he said. "We'll be able to make back the points."

The bell rang, and Snape dismissed the class, his eyes glaring at those who dilly-dallied while collecting their things. After the classroom was empty, Snape shut the door with a firm _thud_ , and swept over to their cauldron, his eyes glittering. He gestured to the cauldron.

"Explain."

Hermione swallowed.

"We added pungous onions and ginger to help enhance the healing properties of the boil cure potion, and nettles after the onions to help soothe any burning sensations during application to the end user," Hermione explained quietly. She bit her lip.

"Why did you alter who stirred and who waved the wand at the end?"

Hermione and Theo's eyes darted to each other. Hermione was fairly sure he'd just let her wave her wand as a way to evenly split the work.

"The stirring was clockwise, so I thought a witch waving the wand instead of a wizard would help stabilize it," Hermione admitted. "I don't know if that's actually a thing in potions, but I like symmetry, and it certainly couldn't hurt."

" _It couldn't hurt_ ," Snape echoed, sneering. Hermione bit her lip as Snape glared at them, before he let loose a sigh.

"This… this is well done," Snape said finally, slowly, as if it pained him to say so. "This is very well done, for first year work."

Hermione and Theo shared a quick, darting glance of relief, before Snape scowled.

"However, it is dangerous to not follow directions," Snape snapped. "Class is not the place to experiment with improving potion-making."

Hermione blinked.

"Class is a dangerous place regardless," she pointed out. "Neville was _trying_ to follow directions, and his attempt ended up being a disaster."

Theo smirked, but Hermione continued.

"And isn't class the _best_ place to experiment and learn?" Hermione asked. "Surely experimenting without expert supervision outside of class would be _far worse_ , in terms of the potential consequences."

Snape moved to stand in front of her, glaring down at her, and Hermione struggled not to cower.

"In this class," Snape hissed, "you must complete the assignment as it is assigned."

"The assignment was to complete a Boil-Cure potion," Hermione countered, her voice wavering. "And we did that, didn't we?"

Snape drew himself up, before scowling at them with a sigh. Hermione felt a flare of hope leap in her heart, encouraging her to press on.

"Just… I don't want Potions class to be like a cooking class, you know?" she said, her eyes pleading. "These are powerful, magical things. I want to learn how and why they work, and how and why they interact the way they do – not just follow directions from a recipe book."

Snape was quiet for a long time. Hermione looked down, wondering if she had gone too far, speaking out of turn.

"Five points to Slytherin," he said finally, "for completing an excellent potion. Bottle the rest of it up – that's a high-enough quality to help stock the infirmary."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth, and Theo couldn't suppress his surprised grin.

"…and a further five points," Snape said, eyeing Hermione with something almost like respect, "for keeping your head and using cool logic in the face of a powerful foe."

At that, Hermione gave Snape a brilliant smile, and Snape rolled his eyes.

"You're our foe, sir?" she asked, not quite able to get the teasing tone out of her voice. "That doesn't seem quite right."

"I was in this instance, Miss Granger," Snape said, and Hermione could swear she saw a quirk of his lips. "However: next time you plan to alter a potion's given recipe, wave me over and consult me before you start."

Theo grinned and Hermione beamed, and Snape rolled his eyes and moved away.

"Do _not_ tell the other students about this incident, however," he warned them. "The last thing we need is the Longbottoms of the world thinking they're potion innovators, and melting every cauldron in the castle."

Quietly, Hermione and Theo shared a soft snicker as they ladled out the rest of their potion into bottles, carefully labeling each one.


	10. Routine

Classes fell into a routine, and it was one that Hermione loved.

Her studying over the past year had obviously paid off – she was at the top of her classes, and it was with little effort on her part, as she'd already mastered these assignments months ago. Some of her teachers like Professor McGonagall would quietly offer her a challenge to keep her engaged, and Hermione enjoyed these opportunities to try something unexpected and new. Most professors, however, just beamed and awarded Slytherin points, which the competitive side of Hermione enjoyed all too much.

Herbology was going better than expected, somehow. Hermione had memorized the important identifiers and plant diagrams from the textbook, but still, just doing as she was told seemed to be how Herbology worked. When each student was given an Amanello plant for repotting, however, it was fairly obvious to see that while most of the plants were struggling to stay alive, Hermione's was flourishing. She wondered if she'd just gotten lucky, or if there was something else to it, but she was happy either way – Professor Sprout was pleased, and it seemed like only one other plant from the first years was doing as well as hers, so she was ranked in the top again.

Charms was a positive experience. Flitwick had been so charmed upon meeting her ("The first Muggleborn in Slytherin in centuries!" – she hadn't bothered to correct him) that she could do no wrong in his eyes. It helped that his lessons so far were following the structure of the textbook to a T, the early chapters of which she'd long since mastered.

Potions continued to be a delicate balance angering and impressing Snape. As the Potions Master stalked around the room, castigating those who failed to perform according to expectations or failed in reading the instructions, Hermione deliberately ignored sections of instructions, experimenting to see what would happen. She and Theo had taken to brewing in two cauldrons – one, with the potion done exactly as the instructions directed, and another where they made slight alterations to see if they could get the potion to come out better. Hermione was relieved a few times, after she caused the experimental potion to begin emitting sparks or turn into a brown sludge, that she and Theo had a backup to ensure they wouldn't fail. After class, Snape would quiz them on the changes they made, sneering at her attempts that failed and criticizing her minimal understanding. Reading between the lines, though, Hermione could tell where they had gone wrong and what he suggested they should have done instead – making it so she learned even more from her failures than her successes.

Her slowly-growing acquaintance with Theo was nice, too.

History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts both continued to be a joke. Hermione freely ignored both instructors, not bothering to take notes, and she read books in class without penalty. She got a couple horrified glances in Defense, but as Quirrell never bothered with practical exercises or asking questions of the class, she was never caught. In History, it seemed that _no one_ paid attention – it was a frequent place for catching up on other homework or taking a power nap. Hermione was somewhat disgusted by the situation – shouldn't the teachers at one of the best magical schools in the world be the _best?_ The situation allowed her, however, to study ahead, and Hermione admitted to herself that the extra study time was probably more helpful than an actual lesson would have been.

Magic classes were amazing, in Hermione's opinion, but there was something even better.

For the first time, she had friends.

Not counting Theo, who was sort of a tentative ally, Hermione had Tracey and Millie, who didn't hesitate to talk to her and share a smile or a joke. They had no interest in getting homework answers from her, and they laughed and seemed to appreciate her dry comments about their teachers, classes, and course material. Hermione, in turn, felt like she could feed on Tracey's enthusiasm, and Millie was always helpful, quietly explaining the idea behind odd pureblood customs that Hermione didn't quite _get._

Even more, Hermione had solidified her friendship with Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Despite the House difference, both Harry and Neville were happy to have a friend, and Hermione was happy to call them friend back. She enjoyed working on homework with them – in Slytherin, it seemed no one studied together, as everyone worked carefully to maintain the image that they just always _somehow_ happened to know everything – and she didn't mind answering their questions. She'd been horrified at discovering their first essay marks, and, upon reading their essays, had quickly discovered why – no one had taught them how to _write_. After a crash course in essay-writing, paragraph structure, and sentence structure, she was pleased to see her friends' marks rise accordingly, and they were incredibly grateful for her intervention. Neville's grandmother had even sent him a gift – a wizarding camera – for him to send home photos of his friends and Herbology plants.

Ron Weasley, however, Hermione continued to have problems with. Ron seemed obsessed with the fact that she was in Slytherin, and he took her house as a sign that she would betray them at the first available opportunity. Disgusted, Hermione had asked exactly _how_ she was supposed to betray them, when all they did was spend time together studying, but Ron had looked away, muttering that "they'd all see soon enough." Ron had also forgone the essay-writing lesson, saying that he didn't need help from a slimy Slytherin, and Hermione had let him storm from the library without further comment, hiding her hurt with a raised eyebrow. She took a sort of twisted satisfaction that Ron wasn't doing as well as his friends in his classes, now, and that his marks within a couple more weeks were quite bad. She knew it was wrong to take pleasure in someone else's failure, but in the face of his constant meanness, it felt _good_ to know she was doing so much better than him.

In the evenings, Hermione had taken to trying to completely drain her magic before going to sleep, in the hopes that doing so would prompt her 'magic reserves', as she imagined it, to grow accordingly. She'd begun with Transfiguration, but that hadn't really worked – either she got it or she didn't, and when she didn't, all the power from the failed transfiguration simply flowed back. Hermione had finally found a winner with a simple charm: levitation. She'd started by levitating a pencil until she could do so no longer, then a book, then a lamp. She timed and tracked her progress, and Hermione was pleased to discover that it seemed that every couple nights, she was able to levitate the item for just a little longer, or something just a little heavier instead. To think she might soon be trying to levitate her entire nightstand for a period of time, just to train…! Hermione was excited at her progress.

The worst part of Hogwarts, however, were her housemates.

Hermione had _known_ , to some degree, that she would be isolated from her house. She'd known that by going into the core of blood prejudice, she'd face the most ostracization and the most prejudice. She'd _known_ that. But she'd also known that, however subtle, blood prejudice was _everywhere_ , and that she'd be better off fighting against it from the very start.

She still thought her plan was good, but it was awfully hard to care about how good her plan was when the rest of her house ignored her.

Word had leaked out that Hermione had grown up with Muggles, and though the rumor of her being some kind of special "new blood" was slowly percolating through the house, it was ignored and disbelieved. There was a Muggleborn in Slytherin. It was unheard of. The older students ignored her, bumped her, hissed derogatory things in her ears as they passed her in the common room, and subtly ostracized her from the rest of them. Outside of the Slytherin dorms, no one would ever know it, as Slytherins stuck together, but inside… Hermione was having a hard time.

Her year-mates were little better.

Though Tracey and Millie talked to her, Theo only really talked to her directly in Potions, which Hermione understood – he couldn't jeopardize his own position with the other Slytherins by talking to her. And the other Slytherins _didn't_ talk to her.

Draco Malfoy seemed to be the leader of the first years. He bossed Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle around, and they obeyed without a second thought. Blaise and Theo, he would talk to, as he would with Daphne and Pansy. Occasionally, he'd deign to speak to Millie or Tracey with a sneer on his face, but he didn't talk to Hermione at all. She didn't even merit a sneer from him – she was simply and completely ignored, as if she didn't exist.

Pansy, on the other hand, was worse. When in the girls' dorm, Pansy's snide remarks never stopped until sleep, and Hermione felt like she had to be constantly on her guard to defend against them. Hermione enjoyed seeing Pansy angry and irate when Hermione managed to parry her remarks with seeming ease, but Pansy's constants insults and belittling were hard to ignore. It was only by her constant, continuing improvement with magic that Hermione had the inner strength to remain confident and not start believing the things Pansy hissed at her. How could she not belong at a magic school when she was the best in their year?

Hermione kept her chin up and didn't let Pansy see any reaction from her remarks. In the wild, large snakes would eat weaker snakes with utter disregard, and living in Slytherin was no different.


	11. Muggle School

_March 1991 - 5 months before Hogwarts_

.

.

Muggle school had taken a turn for the better. Though Hermione had begged her parents to let her teach herself from home so she could balance learning magic with learning the mundane, her parents had stood firm: she was to finish the school year, and that was final. Hermione had been aggravated, and dragged her feet, but she reached a compromise with her parents – if she kept her marks up, she was allowed to read her magic books wherever she pleased, so long as she kept the covers concealed.

Her parents bought her a set of stretchy, elastic book covers to fit over her books. Once equipped, Hermione always had a covered magic book or two with her, even though her usual bookbag was already filled with books.

Something had changed in Hermione, though, and the other students noticed. It was something subtle, starting around her birthday, when she'd had that altercation with the bullies. There was a vague sense that _something_ had happened, because the boys had just muttered about it and passed the word along not to mess with the Granger girl. But Hermione seemed more self-confident, and it seemed to be growing out of nowhere. She still had no friends, and she still spent breaks reading to herself off to the side, but she'd toned down answering all the questions in class, and they'd noticed that she'd stopped asking for extra credit.

It was as if Hermione suddenly didn't _care_ anymore. She still got top marks, of course, but she wasn't trying so hard. And the change was noticeable.

It was because of this that Amelia, abandoned one day by her friends, who all had the flu, cautiously approached Hermione, who was on a bench at the side of the recess field, drawing in the dirt with a stick. Hermione looked up with surprise.

"Amelia…?"

Her greeting sounded like a question.

"Hermione."

Amelia offered her a smile as best she could, though it felt awkward, and took a seat next to Hermione. Hermione continued to prod at the dirt with a large branch.

"How are you?" Amelia asked.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine," Hermione said, startled out of her thoughts. She looked over at the other girl. "And you?"

"I'm doing good," Amelia said. Hermione made a face.

"Well," she muttered, under her breath.

"Well what?" Amelia asked.

"You're doing _well_ ," Hermione corrected. "'Good' is an adjective; 'well' is an adverb. I _am_ good; I'm _doing_ well."

Amelia stared at her.

"This is why you have no friends, you know," she told her.

Hermione smiled a wry smile at the dirt.

"Yeah," she said. "I know."

She kept staring at the dirt, and Amelia felt guilt start to mount up in her.

"Though, you've been a lot better recently," she told Hermione, trying for an encouraging voice. "Like, you're still a swot, but you're not so unbearable about it anymore."

"I'm not unbearable anymore," Hermione repeated flatly. "That's good to know."

Amelia gave up. She watched Hermione, who was still scratching things in the dirt.

"…is that a lion?" she asked. "What are you even _doing_?"

"I'm wondering what environment built around a set of ideals I think I would fit best into," Hermione said. "I'm having a difficult time of it."

"…I have no idea what you just said."

"It's like this," Hermione said, poking at the ground. "Imagine that there are four clubs, and you have to join one. Only instead of activities, the clubs are about personality traits. I'm trying to figure out which one I would belong in."

"Oh." Amelia blinked. "Is this from a book?"

"Something like that."

Amelia looked again at the ground, where four sketches were laid out. "What are the traits for each club?"

"One club is a for brave people. They value courage, nerve, determination, and chivalry," Hermione said, poking one of the drawings. "They're the lions."

Amelia could kind of imagine it. Hermione had faced off against bullies constantly, and she was nothing if not stubborn.

"Maybe," she said. "What else?"

"This one values hard work, dedication, patience, loyalty, and fairness," Hermione said, jabbing at another dirt drawing. "That's supposed to be a badger, but it kind of looks like a dying skunk."

Amelia made a face. "Hard work and patience doesn't sound like any fun."

"It doesn't," Hermione agreed.

"The other two?"

"This one, the eagle one, values wit, knowledge, intelligence, and learning," she said.

"That one," Amelia said immediately. "You belong in the eagle club."

"That's what I thought too," Hermione said. "But there's one left…"

She pointed at the last drawing with the stick. It looked like just a couple wavy lines, but Amelia realized there was a forked tongue and eyes on one side.

"This one values ambition, leadership, cunning, and resourcefulness," she said. "They have a snake."

"And you think that you might fit in this club better than the swotty one?"

"I don't know." Hermione bit her lip. "What do you think?"

Amelia looked back at the dirt.

"…I can kind of see why you have your doubts," she said finally. "The other three, they all have set traits – bravery, hard work, intelligence, whatever. But _ambition_ – that's more of a mindset, isn't it? You can be ambitious and still be brave. You can be a leader and still be smart. Y'know?"

She chanced a glance at Hermione, who was chewing on her lip.

"You always told everyone you wanted to grow up and be prime minister, or maybe a brilliant surgeon," Amelia said, shrugging. "That might take intelligence, but maybe it takes ambition more to get that far."

Hermione considered again.

"…I hadn't thought of that," she said. "Thanks."

Amelia smiled. "You're welcome."

Abruptly, Hermione's face lightened.

"What club do _you_ think you'd end up in?" she asked.

"Oh, I'd join the lion club," Amelia said immediately. "Bravery and chivalry being the values? The boys would be like knights!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed, dragging the stick through the dirt to erase the drawings.

"You're ridiculous," she informed her. "But thanks anyway."

Amelia smirked back.

When the recess bell rang and they filed back into the classroom, Amelia promptly forgot about their conversation in the face of a blackboard full of numbers and pre-algebra. Her friends were back to school the next day, so her break went back to normal – gossip and attempts at flirting with boys, most of whom were too immature to be interested yet.

But Hermione never forgot their discussion.


	12. Noticing

One Friday morning when all the girls were getting ready, Pansy was whining and complaining to Daphne about her skin being uneven (and how was she ever going to attract Draco's attention like _this?_ ), and Hermione had an abrupt realization.

None of the girls here ever… _used_ anything.

Hermione felt almost dirty at the thought. Though her mother had carefully taught her how to tame and style her hair for formal events, Hermione never bothered, as it felt too artificial and vain to focus on her looks that much. The same went for makeup – her mother had insisted that every young woman should know how to do her own makeup _properly_ before heading off to boarding school, and Hermione had accepted the lessons (and even drawn diagrams and taken notes). She'd promptly shoved the makeup case her mother had given her to the back of her trunk to never think about again, but now… she was.

Pansy was the sort of girl that Hermione would expect to do her makeup _every day_ , if she were in Muggle school. Girls back at Hermione's Muggle school that were her age had been carefully trying out concealer, eye liner, and mascara, often hidden in the bathrooms, and Pansy was _just like_ those girls. Pansy was vain, Pansy was shallow, and Pansy was overly concerned with appearances. So… why didn't she wear makeup? Why didn't she curl her hair? Why didn't she do _anything_ besides brush her hair and pin it around a bit?

The first answer, Hermione quickly figured out – there was no electricity here, so using a curling iron or hot curls was out, damning Pansy's hair to eternal thin limpness. Hermione idly wondered if there was a way to heat a curling iron with magic.

But the second… why didn't Pansy wear makeup? Did the wizards have something different?

With a muttered curse as she glanced at the clock, Hermione grabbed her bag and hurried after Tracey to breakfast.

But the thought plagued Hermione all day, driving her to distraction (though Professor Flitwick didn't seem to notice – her _Lumos_ was still the brightest in the class). Did witches normally wear potions and creams that they brewed themselves – but potions like that were above the level of what first years could brew? Did they cast some sort of visual charm to hide flaws? What did they _do?_

Hermione felt disgusted with herself for obsessing over it. Why did she _care?_ She'd never bothered with such frivolities. But yet, she wondered.

Finally, at lunch, Hermione turned to Millicent, and quietly asked.

"Why doesn't Pansy ever do anything about her skin if she's so upset about it?" she asked. Millicent looked confused.

"What, like a glamour?" she said, giving Hermione a strange look. "Those are incredibly difficult, and very draining to keep up all day. I've only known a few fully-grown witches to manage them, and even then, only for the duration of an evening party."

"A glamour?"

"A beauty spell. Something that say, makes your skin look smooth and fair, even if you've got spots." Millicent shrugged. "They're really hard to maintain, with precision, so most witches don't bother."

Hermione felt a slow suspicion in her mind.

"But… what about like, a potion or something?" she asked. "Something to help with her appearance?"

"What, like Sleekeazy's?" Millie asked. "There are a couple potions for hair, but not many – that's why Sleekeazy made such a fortune on his. There's mostly just shampoo, and a couple to help hair grow strong and not break."

"No, for her face," Hermione said, impatient. "Why doesn't she cover up her spots?"

Millie gave her a strange look. "With what?"

Having found her answer, a slow smile spread over Hermione's face.

"Never mind. Thank you!"

Millie gave Hermione a raised eyebrow, but she was used to Hermione's eccentricities, and she turned to Tracey to ask about the Potions assignment, leaving Hermione to stare at the slowly-shifting clouds on the ceiling as she began to plot.

Witches here didn't have makeup. Hermione wondered why. Maybe it didn't _work_ on witches? But that didn't feel right either – Hermione's mother had been able to put makeup on Hermione, and there hadn't been any unexpected results or difficulties. Maybe it couldn't be made with normal potion ingredients, and no one had thought to use more mundane ingredients? Or maybe it was ignored or unknown because it was Muggle?

Desperate for answers, Hermione went to the library on their free period to find a book on magical beauty standards to read during History of Magic.

She read the book later that day as Professor Binns droned on and on. The book she had found was mostly about fashion – about the cut of your robes, what jewelry to wear, how to pin-curl your hair overnight so it would have curls, what colors complimented your eyes, etc. There was a brief mention in the book of learning and holding a glamour, but only in passing, and there was nothing in it – _nothing_ – about doing your makeup.

Hermione bit her lip.

After class, Hermione took off in search of answers. She found a Hufflepuff, Ernie MacMillan, who directed her to find the 5th year Hufflepuff prefect, Rebecca McCullough, who was laughing with a few friends outside under a tree.

"Rebecca?"

The prefect looked over, surprised.

"You're one of Jade's, aren't you?" she said.

"I am," Hermione admitted. "I need help with something that Jade can't exactly help with. Do you mind if I borrow a few minutes of your time?"

Amicably, Rebecca said something to her friends and got to her feet. She was very skinny, and very, very tall, Hermione noticed. She wondered how she found women's robes that fit.

Rebecca led Hermione over to a set of stairs by a side door that they sat down on, and Hermione was grateful she wouldn't have to get a crick in her neck trying to talk to the prefect.

"So what's going on, little snake?" Rebecca said, but her smile was genuine. Hermione offered her a small smile back.

"I had a question," Hermione said. She paused. "You're Muggleborn, right?"

Rebecca looked at her carefully. "I am."

"My parents are Muggles, too," Hermione said promptly. She ignored Rebecca's look of surprise, continuing, "I wanted to know – why don't witches wear makeup?"

Rebecca blinked. "Makeup?"

"You know – foundation, powder, mascara, eye liner… the products you put on your face to make you prettier," Hermione said impatiently. "I haven't seen a witch yet that uses them."

Rebecca blinked. "Huh."

The prefect looked at the wall blankly for a long moment, before looking up and shrugging.

"Truth be told, I don't know why not," she admitted. "I guess I don't because I've never been home long enough anymore to learn how? And no one else does, so there's no pressure to, either. Plus I was 11 when I entered Hogwarts – that's a little young to be playing around with that kind of thing, don't you think?"

Hermione privately agreed, but she'd been a year ahead of her age group in school, and she knew that too young or not, that girls _did_ play around with makeup at this age.

"It doesn't hurt witches or anything, does it?" Hermione asked, and Rebecca laughed.

"No, it doesn't hurt us," she said, amused. Her eyes sparkled. "I wore a little makeup to go to Hogsmeade with a boy, once. He was blown away, but he couldn't quite tell how I looked so pretty." She grinned. "It was fun. But it's a lot of effort to do every day, and when other witches don't bother, why should I?"

"I completely agree," Hermione said, standing up. "Thank you so much for answering my questions. I was very confused, and no one in Slytherin knew what I was talking about or was able to be any help."

"I don't doubt it," the prefect said, getting to her feet. "Let me know if there's anything else I can help with, okay?"

"I will! Thank you!"

That evening, in her room, Hermione laid on her bed, a muggle notebook and fountain pen open beside her, and she stared out into the lake, thinking deeply.

This was an opportunity, she knew. It might have far-reaching effects, but it could help her at least get some seed money for her to grow her much-needed House-founding fortune on. And if nothing else, it would make things a bit more interesting at Hogwarts.

And Hermione was ready to shake things up.


	13. School Photos

The next day, Hermione took her time getting ready. It was Saturday and being a little tardy didn't matter, so when she came down to breakfast later than usual, all her classmates were already there.

When Tracey turned to say hello, she squeaked and nearly dropped her juice. The others turned toward the squeak, saw Hermione, and did a collective double-take. Hermione was secretly pleased, and took special vindication in Blaise's appreciative gaze and Draco's astonished stare.

"Hermione? What did you _do?_ " Tracey asked reverently, reaching out to touch her hair. "You look so pretty today."

"This? Oh," Hermione said, tossing her hair casually. "Some of the first years are going to take each other's pictures today, so I thought I'd make an effort to look my best."

Hermione's hair, for once, was not a mess of riotous, furious frizz. She'd slept with it in braids after a shower to keep it calm, and then with a heating charm, had used her curling iron to create full, gorgeous ringlets that she'd gently separated and smoothed into soft curls. For the first time, she'd been grateful her mother had pushed her to learn such frivolous things, "just in case". Just the look on Theo's face made all the tedium worth it – his eyes hadn't moved from her since she'd gotten there.

Hermione had also done her makeup – but very, very carefully. She'd shied away from bright colors and liquid eyeliner – the entire point of this was to make herself look beautiful, but _naturally_ beautiful. If anything about her looked artificial, the game would be up.

So it was with great care that Hermione, following the diagrams she had drawn in her notebook, used a light foundation to hide her skin's flaws, highlighted her face, carefully used neutral eyeshadows to make her brown eyes pop, curled her lashes, and used a mascara that lengthened and darkened her eyelashes - but not _too_ much. She'd kept her lips a matte, complementary nude color, and when she was done, even _she_ was taken aback and astonished at the results.

Hermione had felt a wave of disgust that she had bothered to do this. Her own vanity revulsed her. She had to sternly remind herself that this wasn't for _her_ – it was for her plan, for the _others_ , for them to see.

And see they did.

"You look so pretty, Hermione!" Millie said, her eyes wide. "You look different! But… still like you. What did you do?"

"Oh, I just made sure I got a good night's sleep and took the time to take care of my hair this morning," Hermione said, serving herself breakfast. "I'm usually up so late studying, you know? So I always have dark circles under my eyes."

Hermione most certainly did _not_ have dark circles under her eyes on a daily basis, but it seemed a valid enough excuse that Millie slowly nodded and returned to her food.

"There are first years taking portraits today?" Daphne said abruptly.

Everyone looked up.

"Just a few of us," Hermione said slowly, doing her best to hide her surprise that Daphne was speaking to her. "Neville Longbottom was sent a fancy camera from his grandmother, and we thought we'd all take pictures of us to send home and keep of each other."

"Who all will be participating?" Daphne asked, and Hermione could hear the hidden jealousy in her voice.

"Neville, Harry, Ron, Hannah, Ernie, and me," Hermione said, counting them off on her fingers.

"You're friends with Hannah?"

Hermione turned to look at Gregory Goyle, surprised. He'd never spoken to her before.

"We're acquaintances," she told him. "Neville's friends with Hannah and Ernie."

For the first time since she'd been in school, Hermione saw Greg's face soften from a scowl to something almost a smile.

"I know Hannah," he said. He gestured around the table. "She used to go to dancing school with us."

Hermione tucked that little tidbit away to ask Millie about later.

Conversation slowly resumed, allowing Hermione a chance to actually eat, but she was highly aware of all the side glances she was getting from the others. Both Theo and Draco were sneaking looks at her, their faces unreadable, while Blaise didn't even try to hide his appreciative glances. Pansy and Daphne looked torn – Hermione figured their emotions were made up of one part jealousy, and one part desperate longing to know how she did it – and they kept trying _not_ to look, before their eyes were inexorably drawn back.

Hermione gained a slow a sense of satisfaction and confidence during breakfast, at the others' reactions. Her plan was clearly working. There was also, though, a sense of injustice and anger. _This_ is what it had taken, to get the Slytherins to look at her? Looking _pretty?_

Hermione controlled herself, making sure to breathe and look utterly uncaring, keeping her confidence and poise.

* * *

After breakfast, Hermione excused herself to the library, where they were all meeting up. Neville had thought that photos in an academic setting would please his grandmother, and they could take others outside later, if it wasn't raining.

Harry, Neville, and Ron were already waiting when Hermione got to the back of the library, away from the hawkish eyes of Madam Pince. Neville was nervously fiddling with his camera, while Harry looked uncomfortable in his best robes and uniform. Ron was slouching against the stacks, bored, but he looked up when he heard her arrive, before his eyes went wide.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said, standing up fully. "What did you do?"

"Language, Ronald," Hermione snapped, otherwise ignoring him as she joined the group. Ron continued to stare at her, but Harry offered her a smile.

"You look good, Hermione," he said as he moved to stand next to her, between her and Ron.

"Thanks," Hermione said, smiling back. "I tried."

"Wish guys could wear that sometimes," Harry said quietly, but his eyes were still sparkling. "I'd love to be able to hide this stupid scar."

Hermione offered him an understanding smile.

"You probably could?" she said, shrugging. "People in the wizarding world don't really use makeup, so no one would know that it's generally a 'girl' thing."

Harry made a face. "I would know, though," he admitted. "I think I'd still feel weird about it."

When Neville came back after setting his camera up on a magical tripod, his eyes bulged.

"H-H-Hermione," he said, a blush slowly creeping up his face. "You- you look really pretty."

"Thanks!" Hermione offered him a smile in return, and Neville's blush deepened.

Hermione's satisfaction in her plan slowly grew as Hannah and Ernie reacted with surprise, but then almost a reverence. None of the Purebloods present had any idea what she had done, and only Harry, who had grown up in the Muggle world, seemed to know how she had managed to look so subtly, yet extraordinarily, different.

Ernie ended up largely in charge of the camera, directing each of them to pose in different ways, and in a multitude of ways Hermione hadn't considered. There was the head-on shot, the three-quarters profile, the casual-faked-candid shot, the lounging on the window seat looking outside broodingly shot, the reaching for a book shot… Ernie was creative with it, and Hermione was surprised to realize she was having a lot of fun watching and adding suggestions.

Ernie did the boys first, then the girls; Hannah, then making Hermione go last. Hermione wondered if it was according to some sort of order, or just because he didn't know her well.

Once it was her turn, though, Hermione realized that it was a lot harder than she'd thought. It was hard to give a genuine smile for the length of the exposure, and hard to not start to laugh when she was supposed to be brooding out the window. Reaching for the book and looking through it like she was genuinely researching was difficult. Hermione had forgotten that wizarding photos would move, and she'd only expected to have to hold a pose for a moment – but all Ernie's instructions made a lot more sense, now.

Ernie was having to work a lot harder with her, too. Hermione was embarrassed, but grateful he was hiding his aggravation with her struggling. He had her try a lot more poses than the others, and Hermione could only hope and pray that at least some of the photos came out okay.

Finally, hers were done, and they all gathered together for a final group photo. They pushed Neville to the front (as it was for his grandmother), and Hermione was pleased that she ended up nestled right next to Neville on his left, with Harry on his right. It was a place of honor, showing that she was one of Neville's _best_ friends, and Hermione felt smug that she had beat Ron out for it.

Afterwards, they all stretched, the boys taking off their ties and fancy robes.

"I'll have it developed," Ernie said, nodding to the camera. "I'll give you all a full copy of the photos, and I can give you back the original film too, Neville."

"How long do you think it will take?" Neville asked, and Ernie shrugged.

"Only a couple of weeks, I think," he said. "It's not hard to develop photos, but with classes, I only have so much time, and I want to make sure that they all come out really well."

They broke up to leave the library, drifting off into smaller groups. Hermione went to get her bag, but Ernie caught her wrist, holding her behind. She looked at him with a questioning glance.

"Your parents aren't magical, are they?" he asked. Hermione fought the urge to tense at the question, but Ernie looked genuinely curious.

"No, they're not," she told him, and he nodded, expecting the answer.

"If you want, when they finally give us flying lessons, I can take some pictures of you on a broomstick." He offered her a half smile. "Your parents might like it."

"Oh! Yes!" Hermione's face lit up. "Can we do them so I can send them in time for Halloween? When are flying lessons, anyway?"

"Next week, on Tuesday and Thursday," Ernie told her. Hermione grinned at him.

"This will be great! Thank you so much!"

Impulsively, Hermione threw her arms around him in an impromptu hug, causing Ernie to blush.

"Anytime… Hermione," he told her, with a grin of his own. "My pleasure."


	14. Quidditch Lessons

As Hermione expected, neither Daphne nor Pansy said anything further about how Hermione had looked different, but Hermione didn't care – there was a new respect in how they looked at her, and Pansy's snide remarks had mostly subsided. The others in her house were looking at her as if they'd seen her in a new light, which irritated her even more – they'd noticed her for her _looks_ , but not her grades? Her brains?

Hermione took out a book on great wizards and witches throughout time and examined their portraits, before concluding that objectively, most of them looked very powerful and striking one way or another. Some had very long, dramatic beards, similar to Dumbledore's, some had wild, crazy, kinked hair, and some were just very, very attractive. Hermione looked down at the piercing eyes of one of the wizards in the book, who offered her a smirk, and grimaced. If they were great wizards, they could probably hold a glamour for a long period of time so they could intimidate and impress people. It was an advanced charm, Millicent had said, so Hermione supposed she'd have to work up to it.

Her routine was altered on Thursday when the Slytherin class was directed outside at three-thirty in the afternoon for flying lessons. Hermione was excited to try her hand at flying – only to quickly become apprehensive when she saw the Gryffindors heading over to join them.

Hermione walked a careful tightrope, being friends with the Gryffindors, despite the invisible, unspoken line that divided the houses. On one hand, she was a Slytherin with Slytherin friends and complete house loyalty to Slytherin. On the other, though, her own house ostracized her, and other houses seemed to treat her as an exception to the rule that Slytherins were all snobby and mean. Hermione remained untouched by house rivalries so far, but Hermione was uneasy to see what might happen here. So far, Potions class with the Gryffindors was fine – they were physically separated, so interactions that might turn problematic were limited from the outset within Snape's classroom.

Here, though…

Here, there could be trouble.

Hermione watched as the Gryffindors glanced askance at the leftover broomsticks. Theirs were decidedly less nice than the ones the Slytherins had claimed and traded – Hermione's own broom looked worn but well-kept. The teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short gray hair, and Hermione noticed her yellow eyes. She made a mental note – either the woman was old and had some sort of medical issue, or she wasn't entirely normal. For all Hermione knew, maybe she was part harpy. Magic didn't seem to have many limits.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

The Gryffindors, who had been dilly-dallying, hurried over to the leftover brooms.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch directed, "and say 'UP!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Hermione was pleased to see that her broom made it up into her hand, though it did so in a weary, reluctant kind of way. Many of the others hadn't made it all the way up – Ron's had rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. She was pleased to see Harry had managed to get his into his hand, and she shot him a smile, which he returned with a pleased grin.

Madam Hooch began walking around, showing everyone how to mount their brooms and grip the handle so as not to slip off. Hermione was somewhat alarmed by this – she'd presumed that there was some sort of safety charm built into the broom. Maybe something like training wheels on a bike - they _were_ supposed to be learning how to fly properly, after all.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three – two-"

But Neville, nervous and shaking and scared of being left behind, had pushed off hard before Madam Hooch had a chance to bring the whistle to her lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville kept flying up, looking terrified. Hermione watched as Neville looked down, went pale, and slipped off his broom.

With a nasty crack and a thud, Neville crashed into the ground face-first. Madam Hooch bent over Neville, her face white.

"Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on boy – it's all right, up you get."

She helped Neville to his feet and leveled a glare at the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be thrown out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Hermione bit her lip as Neville hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who was helping him across the grass.

No sooner than they were out of earshot than Draco burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

Hermione exchanged a look of dread with Tracey as the others kept bickering. When Draco grabbed Neville's Remembrall, she almost intervened, but Tracey held her back.

"It's a stupid toy," she hissed. "It's not worth it, Hermione."

Hermione forced herself to bite her tongue and not say a word, though it got harder when somehow, Draco and Harry had escalated to facing off on broomsticks. It was surreal to watch them – Harry chasing Draco, somehow able to fly as if he'd been doing it his entire life – and then, Harry was diving, racing after the Remembrall, faster than gravity itself, and managed to _catch_ the thing—

"HARRY POTTER!"

Hermione turned to see Professor McGonagall racing towards them, her face hard, her glasses flashing furiously.

" _Never_ \- in all my time at Hogwarts-"

The Gryffindors began objecting, leaping to Harry's defense, but McGonagall grabbed Harry by the arm, hustling him off.

After they had gone, Draco and the others started sniggering once again, but more subdued. One teacher had already seen and intervened, and Slytherins weren't stupid enough to chance it again.

* * *

That evening at dinner, Hermione drifted over to the Gryffindor table to talk to Harry and Neville. The conversation was entirely not what she expected.

"She put you on the Quidditch team?" Hermione repeated. "The _Quidditch_ team?"

"Youngest Seeker in a century," Harry said, grinning. "I start training next week."

Hermione was torn between anger at the blatant rule breaking and relief that her friend had gotten off scot-free. She settled somewhere in the middle.

"Are you at least going to be more careful in the future?" Hermione said with a sigh. "Not antagonize Draco and the others?"

"Malfoy started it!" Ron objected. "He always does!"

"Did I hear my name?"

Hermione turned to see Draco sauntering over, Greg and Vincent in tow.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" Draco said, sneering.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Harry said coolly, and Hermione had to repress a smirk at that. Judging from the look on Draco's face, he knew it too.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Draco challenged. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no physical contact." He smirked. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," Ron snapped, whirling around to glare. "I'm his second. Who's yours?"

Draco looked over his minions carefully, his eyes pausing on Hermione before looking back to Harry and Ron.

"Granger."

Hermione froze at that pronouncement, shock streaking through her mind like lightning. _Her?_

Harry and Ron looked at Malfoy incredulously, then at each other, before simultaneously protesting. However, the boys' loud objections were interrupted with Hermione's firm, "Absolutely not." She met Draco's eyes steadily.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why not, Granger? Scared?"

"I am not about to participate in this sort of activity," she said firmly, "and I'm especially not going to choose to side against my friends or against my house. I'll come to the duel, but I'll be monitoring – I'll play the referee. That fair?"

Harry nodded, and Draco nodded again after a moment.

"Crabbe can be my second," Draco said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

They walked away, and Harry turned to Ron. "What _is_ a wizard's duel?"

As Ron explained the intricacies, Hermione considered. What spells had they even learned in class, besides _Lumos_? Hermione knew every spell in her first year spell books, but she doubted Harry knew anything further than what their classes had covered.

"You'll probably just send sparks at each other," Ron concluded, reassuring Harry.

Harry did not look reassured.

Hermione sighed.

"Look," she said. "No matter what happens, we'll both be there to take Draco down a peg if need be. Even if you can't cast any spells, I can hit him with a Leg-Lock Jinx if he looks like he's going to hurt you, and then you can do whatever you want."

Harry visibly cheered at this. He went back to talking about Quidditch, and Hermione left, rolling her eyes.

Still, though. Draco had chosen _her,_ first, even though he wouldn't speak to her voluntarily, or even register her existence unless forced to. But he had chosen _her._

If that wasn't recognition that she was the best witch in their class, she didn't know what was.


	15. The Midnight Duel

Hermione dressed herself carefully for her first wizard's duel, though she wasn't expected to fight in it. She was torn between the practicality and mobility of Muggle clothes and the importance of appearance and the appropriate gravitas that robes provided. She eventually settled on wearing her robes over top of a black jumper and black denims. It was going to be dark, anyways; the others probably wouldn't notice her clothing at all.

Escaping the dungeons and creeping up through the castle to the seventh floor was an adventure all its own. Hermione took care to be as careful and as quiet as possible, trying to blend into the shadows, pretending she was a ninja. Though she had to narrowly avoid Filch, she managed to make it to her destination on time and uncaught.

She was amused to meet Harry and Ron outside their common room, both wearing their pajamas and bathrobes.

"Nice dueling outfits," she commented, raising an eyebrow. "Very intimidating. I'm sure Malfoy will be awed."

"Oh, shut it, Hermione," Ron grumbled, but Harry had the grace to look abashed.

As they quietly crept down the corridor, Harry froze, shoving them both back behind him.

"I heard something," he said, his eyes wide. He leaned forward, curious, only to spring back as Neville leapt up in front of them.

Hermione lingered in the back of the group, unable to refrain from rolling her eyes as the Gryffindors quickly talked in a hush. Neville had forgotten the password, apparently, and been _locked out_ of his common room. She wondered if it had ever occurred to him to _knock._ Or find Professor McGonagall, for that matter.

Somehow, it was decided that Neville would accompany them, as he didn't want to be alone, and the Fat Lady of their portrait wasn't in her frame anymore. Hermione wondered what snide remark Draco would make about this new development.

They crept along the corridors, striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. They sped up a staircase and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Draco and Vincent weren't there yet. Hermione entertained herself by looking around at all the trophies. There were certainly a lot of them, for various different things, though most seemed very old. One of the more recent ones was an award for "Special Services to the School," which Hermione thought sounded almost like someone had maxed doing their hours of community service on Hogwarts. The most interesting trophy was for "Combat Potions," dated in 1394, and had a horrific figure half-melting on the top of the trophy instead of the usual victorious angel.

"He's late," Ron whispered. "Maybe he's chickened out."

Hermione looked around. There was no sign or sound of Draco.

A certain sense of dread began to close in on her. Draco wouldn't have chickened out – not if he intended the duel to be real…

"It's a trap," she hissed. "We have to get out—"

There was a noise in the next room that made them jump. Harry raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch talking to Mrs. Norris.

Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at them to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. They'd only just rounded the corner when they heard Filch enter the room from the other side.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter. "Probably hiding."

Harry gestured to them, and they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Ron about the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The resulting clamor could have been heard from Hogsmeade.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted off, Hermione simultaneously torn between yelling at the three of the boys for being so noisy and considering if she should ditch them and run in a different direction – knowing she'd be much quieter on her own.

It was the memory of Ron sneering at her in the library, saying that she'd betray them, that kept her reluctantly keeping pace with her friends.

They paused against a wall, struggling to catch their breath, Neville wheezing.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted. Hermione scowled.

"Draco tricked you," she told him. "He tricked us. He was never going to duel at all. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room – Draco must have tipped him off."

From the dark look on Harry's face, Hermione knew he had come to the same realization.

A moment later, Peeves was interfering and challenging Ron, and Hermione groaned. She stretched a little, preparing herself, and when Peeves began to yell, she took off right next to Harry, who led the way.

They slammed into a locked door at the end of the corridor, and Ron moaned as they pushed helplessly at the door.

"This is it! We're done for! This is the end!"

"Spare me your dramatics," Hermione snarled, shoving him aside. She whipped out her wand, tapping the lock. " _Alohomora!"_

The lock clicked and the door swung open. They piled through it and shut it quickly. The boys all pressed their ears to it, listening, while Hermione stared into the room.

There was a dog there.

A very, very large dog, quite possibly as tall as a bus.

With three heads.

The dog seemed surprised that they'd abruptly burst into its room, which gave them a moment of comparative safety, Hermione supposed. Then the dog shook its heads and snarled, drool leaving its massive mouths and dripping down to the ground.

Hermione's eye watched as one strand of drool landed on a metal ring on the floor, and her eyes widened.

 _That_ was a trap door.

The creature was _guarding_ something.

The monstrous dog snarled again, and this time, Harry turned around with a _"What?"_ and saw the monstrous dog, his face going white. As the dog growled, Harry groped for the doorknob while Ron whimpered, and they all fell back through the doorway as fast as they could.

Hermione was the last out, and she slammed the door behind her, before taking care to lock it once again. When she looked up, she was dismayed to see that the other three had left her, sprinting at full speed for the Gryffindor tower.

It was with an angry scowl that she stalked back down to the Slytherin common room, her black robes billowing behind her. She'd gone with them, _saved_ them, and they had abandoned _her?_ Hermione didn't intend to let Ron forget this, and she planned on guilt tripping him for it as long as possible.

Her ire gradually began to diminish as the time of night caught up to her, and her angry thoughts gradually subsided into a sort of sleepy curiosity.

What could that dog be guarding? It had to be _something._

And _why_ had she been able to open the door with _Alohomora?_ Surely if it were anything important, they'd have used a proper magically-resistant lock, not one a _first-year spell_ could get through.

Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her.

Maybe someone was _supposed_ to get through.

A tremor of excitement ran through her as she whispered the password to the wall, letting her into the common room.

As she changed and laid down in her bed, her mind was still racing. She wondered over it as she levitated a small pile of books, managing to hold it for nearly three minutes.

She'd already learned that things were done differently, here. The Forbidden Forest wasn't so forbidden if you had detention, for example, or if your Creatures class instructed you to go in there. Bullying was dealt with by students, not teachers. Maybe extra credit was gained through obstacle courses that involved dramatic and dangerous things?

The dog had been horrifying, but upon further consideration, not the _worst_ thing. There could have been a dragon who could have immediately roasted her alive, Hermione reflected. It could have been a lot worse.

Besides. She was sure she had heard of a three-headed dog somewhere, before. She just couldn't remember where.

Hermione eventually drifted off, thoughts of dragons and dogs following her into her sleep.


	16. Witchy Photos

Judging from Draco's dismayed scowl the next morning at breakfast, he'd been expecting them all to get caught. Hermione took particular pleasure in eating her breakfast slowly and obviously, striking up a conversation with Millie about wizard duels in general, and showing off her magic by casually levitating the croissants over to her, making Draco's eyes widen at her display of power – they hadn't covered levitation in Charms yet.

After classes, Hermione immediately went hunting for Ernie Macmillan, surprised but pleased to find him studying with some other Hufflepuffs under a tree outside.

"We've learned to ride broomsticks, now," Hermione said, smiling. "Will you still take my photo? My parents would love it."

Ernie looked up and grinned back at her.

"Sure," he said. "Saturday okay?"

"Saturday's perfect," Hermione agreed. "Right after breakfast?"

One of the other Hufflepuffs was peering at her oddly, and after a moment, finally interrupted, "Your parents would love it?"

Hermione turned to give him a slow, measuring look, and he flushed.

"Yes," she said slowly, drawing it out. "What of it?"

The boy swallowed.

"Haven't they ever seen you on a broomstick before?" he asked.

Ernie cringed.

"Seeing as they're Muggles, no, I daresay they haven't," Hermione said, her tone dangerous. "What of it?"

The boy looked confused, and a couple others at the table had leaned in, curious despite themselves.

"But you're in _Slytherin_ ," he objected. "Slytherin _never_ takes Muggleborns."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"And?"

He stared at her.

"But you… your parents…"

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Ernie, ignoring the boy.

"I'll see you Saturday," she told him. "Should I bring anything?"

"I'll bring a broom," he told her. "Bring your hat, robes, and, um, something to tie your hair back with, maybe? In case it's windy out." He grinned at her. "This will be fun. I've never taken posed photos of someone on a broom before."

As Hermione left to go to the library, she could catch snippets of the Hufflepuffs' conversation, wondering aloud at her blood status and how she'd gotten into Slytherin.

She wondered if they'd make the logical leap, but she doubted it. She'd have to help them along and plant a seed of doubt with them, too, making them believe she was New Blood.

Not that it would be hard – that boy had already done most of her work for her.

* * *

On Saturday, Hermione did her hair and makeup again, and this time, took care to dress… a little oddly.

"What are you _wearing?_ " Ernie said, blatantly staring at her as Hermione approached him on the Quidditch pitch. "Isn't it a bit cold out for that?"

Hermione grinned.

"Muggles imagine witches wearing black dresses and striped tights or socks," Hermione explained. "I didn't have tights, but I was able to charm a pair of socks."

Ernie's eyes stayed wide, but he didn't contradict her, and Hermione pulled down the back of her dress. It _was_ a bit short.

Hermione was regretting her decision shortly thereafter. Posing on the broom was _difficult_. It was hard to balance in a way that seemed natural if the broom wasn't moving, similar to how it was hard to balance on a bicycle without it being in motion. And it was even harder to _smile_ that entire time. Ernie had her do a couple slow loops, her toes just skimming the grass, to have some action shots instead of just her hovering, and _that_ was even harder to look good doing, seeing as her knuckles were white from clutching the broom so hard. Flying wasn't something that came naturally to Hermione, though she was doing her best to hide her anxiety from her face.

Frustrated, Hermione went off to the broom cupboard and brought back another two brooms, carefully setting them all to hover in a neutral state, one behind the other.

"Here," she said. She laid down lengthwise on the broom, posing on her side, and adjusted the other two brooms to allow her weight to be spread out and evenly balanced. "If you get this from the right angle, you won't be able to see that there's three brooms here supporting me instead of just one."

Ernie obliged, though he looked puzzled by the pin-up type pose Hermione had wanted, but Hermione was relieved she'd finally got at least one "casual witch" shot on the broom to send her family for Halloween. She knew they'd be tickled pink.

"So, Hermione," Ernie said, walking back with her as they put away the brooms. "Justin keeps wondering, and he's got me curious too, now."

"Justin?"

"The boy who was asking you about your parents the other day," Ernie explained. "He's obsessed with the idea of a Muggleborn in Slytherin. His parents are Muggles too, you know."

"No, I didn't know." Hermione fixed Ernie with a look as they headed back up to the castle, and he squirmed. "Are you asking me anything, Ernie, or are you just fishing?"

Ernie looked slightly abashed, but drew himself up.

"Hermione," he said finally. "How is it that a Muggleborn was sorted into Slytherin?"

Hermione gave him a nasty smile.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said haughtily. "Muggleborns are _never_ sorted into Slytherin."

Ernie looked incredulous. "But – _you're_ Slytherin. And your parents are Muggles."

Hermione inclined her head. "This is all true."

Ernie threw his hands up. "Then _how?_ The facts contradict each other! This makes no sense."

Hermione took a step closer to Ernie, perfectly aware she was uncomfortably close. Ernie's eyes widened.

"You're making a false assumption," Hermione murmured, her eyes holding his. "You're presuming that everyone magical who has muggle parents is a Muggleborn."

Ernie took a sharp breath.

"And… they're not?"

"Not everyone." Hermione looked up at him through her lashes, watching as he swallowed hard. His pupils dilated.

Ernie's voice was a strangled whisper. "What… what are you, then?"

Hermione met his eyes.

"I'm New Blood."

Hermione broke away from him before he could reply or ask anything else, entering the castle and quickly dodging out of the way as the door started to close, hiding behind a large suit of armor. Ernie was inside a moment later, looking around wildly. Hermione held her breath.

Ernie seemed astonished, then resolute. He left the front hall, heading presumably for the Hufflepuff common room, and Hermione exhaled, pleased with herself. Dramatic exits always gave your words more weight. Hopefully Ernie would tell his friend, who would tell someone else, who would tell someone _else_ , until everyone had heard.


	17. The Trade

Later that day, Hermione went down to the Slytherin common room, determined.

"Hey, Blaise?"

Blaise Zabini looked up at her as Hermione approached him on one of the sofas. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he looked pleased.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he said, giving her a grin. "How can I help you today?"

"You're… from Italy?" Hermione guessed. "Somewhere on the continent?"

Blaise looked less enthusiastic, he but nodded. "Italy. Why?"

"I know I've read about this creature somewhere once before, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it's called," Hermione explained, pushing over a sketchbook drawing she had toiled over. "Do you recognize this?"

Blaise took the drawing and looked it over, before looking at her and raising an eyebrow, amused. "Is this supposed to be recognizable as anything except scribbles?"

Hermione flushed. "I did my best. But look," she moved over closed to him, crouching by him on the couch and pointing. "It's a giant dog that has three heads. See? It's about this size proportionately to a human, and the faces look like this, if that helps you identify a breed."

Blaise studied the picture for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I see what you mean."

"And?"

Blaise handed the drawing back to her, giving her a cheeky grin.

"And if I help you with this, what will you give me in return?"

Hermione bit back the urge to retort. Instead, she forced herself to give him a coy smile back, as if she was perfectly accustomed to playing the Slytherin game.

"What would you want?" she murmured. Blaise looked surprised at this answer. He paused to consider.

"What would I want, what would I want…?" he considered. He glanced over her, and Hermione forced herself not to flinch as he gave her a smirk. "A kiss will do."

Hermione couldn't stop her reaction. "A _kiss?_ "

"Not now, if you don't want to," he assured her. "But… when you're ready. I want to have your first kiss."

"How do you know I haven't already had one?" Hermione challenged.

Blaise paused to consider, before his eyes gleamed.

"If you had, you wouldn't have hesitated to agree before," he told her. "Girls make a big deal out of their first kiss, but not their second, third, or fourth. So you haven't."

" _Why?"_ Hermione asked.

He shrugged.

"A girl always remembers her first kiss," he told her, his eyes on hers. "I want to make you remember me."

His tone was casual, playful, and he was wearing a smirk, but Hermione could hear a note in his voice behind his words that betrayed him. He… he actually _wanted_ to kiss her.

Hermione didn't know much about Blaise, save his mother's reputation as a seductress and a man-killer. From Blaise's flirting, she'd presumed that Blaise intended to place himself into a similar role, but…

Well. It was okay for a boy to want his first kiss to mean something, too.

"A proper first kiss when I'm older," Hermione said quickly, before she realized what she was saying. "A small one on the cheek now, as a promise for later."

"Deal," Blaise said immediately, his eyes lighting up.

He offered his face, a lingering smile on his lips, and with a quick glance around the room, Hermione moved forward, pressing her lips to his cheek.

It was a quick kiss, barely a moment, but one of the third-year Slytherins whistled, and Hermione broke away, embarrassed. Blaise only grinned.

"It's from Greek mythology," he told her. "A three-headed dog guarded the cave to the underworld. It guarded Hades' realm. Some legends say it had snakes for a tail." Blaise shrugged and gave her a smile. "That's all I know. That enough?"

"Mythology…" Hermione murmured, her mind racing. "That's… thanks! I've got to go!"

Hermione darted off to grab her bag from her room, Blaise calling a "You're welcome!" after her as she ran.

Random unheard of magical creatures? No idea.

But _mythology?_ Hermione knew where to start researching there.


	18. Wingardium Leviosa

Time flew by without Hermione realizing it. Classes kept her occupied, her additional spellbooks and research filled her free time, and her friends kept her feeling less alone than she'd ever felt before. Now that she'd 'officially' consorted with Blaise Zabini, he frequently joined her, Tracey, and Millie, though he practiced flirting outrageously with them all. They would play Exploding Snap together in the common room, or, very rarely, hide in an abandoned classroom and do their homework.

"You can't ever let people know you have to _work_ on something," Blaise told her, very casually. "The best wizards are just naturally capable, and having to do _work_ is something servants do. We all know we have to do work, but we can do our best to hide it for as long as possible."

Hermione had held back a retort. The fifth year O.W.L. students certainly didn't seem to care about hiding their feverish studying anymore.

The three-headed dog was a Cerberus, Hermione discovered. In Greek mythology, he guarded the way to the underworld, and he had only been passed a few times in history. Once was by Heracles, who seemed to defeat him with brute strength, and once was by Orpheus, who had sung to the beast while playing on his lyre, lulling the monster to sleep.

If she was ever going to try and get past the giant dog to win this obstacle course, she would probably need to go the music route. Hermione doubted she'd be able to get her hands on the creature's lead before it ate her.

Hermione was also gradually expanding her network of acquaintances, though she wouldn't quite call them friends. Ernie and Hannah caught up with her after class to chat about lessons, and Terry Boot had asked if she wanted to study with him for Defense a time or two. The other Slytherins seemed suspicious of this – they by large kept only to themselves, only having friends inside Slytherin house – but Hermione was eager for any connections she could get.

Ernie had also given her a set of the photos from the photo shoots, both the broom one and the one in the library, and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised. They'd turned out _much_ better than she'd expected, even the ones on the broom. The animation of her smirking and flying off was brilliant, and a bit surreal, if she was honest with herself. She'd kept a set for herself and sent a few to her family, wishing them a happy Halloween.

When Halloween finally arrived, Hermione had a low level of excitement running through her all day. There was to be a feast at dinner, and Hermione felt a magical sort of anticipation, as if something was going to happen.

Breakfast was wonderful, her classmates sharing in her excitement, no matter how much they tried to hide it. Theo was even publicly talking to her, mentioning his family's Samhain traditions and how Hogwarts' celebrations were more low-key. Draco kept looking over at her, as if he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself, and Hermione felt a twinge of disappointment as he turned to talk to Pansy instead.

In Charms class, Flitwick announced that they were ready to start making objects fly, to the great excitement of the class. He paired them up, settling Hermione with Blaise, and instructed them to try and levitate the feather on the top of their desk.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gestured for Blaise to go first. She'd mastered this charm months ago, and though it had been a hard-won victory, she could levitate a small stack of books now. A feather would be nothing.

The rest of the room struggled with it. Hermione watched with amusement as Pansy prodded her feather and accidentally set it on fire, Daphne slapping it with her textbook to put it out. Most of the feathers barely moved.

"This is stupid," Blaise muttered, gritting his teeth. She smirked, and he glared at her. "Oh, don't laugh. _You_ do it if you're so special."

Hermione rolled her eyes, produced her wand, and gave it an elegant swish and flick.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

The feather flew, and with dexterous control, Hermione sent it after Blaise, tickling his nose until he sneezed and laughed.

"Oh! Look! Miss Granger's got it!"

Flitwick beamed with pride, and Hermione felt embarrassed for a moment, for him to be proud of her doing something so simple.

"You're even controlling its path," Flitwick said proudly. "Five points to Slytherin. Well done."

Hermione settled the feather back onto the table, giving Blaise a look. Blaise sighed and took up his wand again, resuming his efforts.

"For the rest of class, why don't you try to levitate your quill?" Flitwick suggested. "It's quite a bit heavier than a feather, so-"

Her quill was in the air before Flitwick had finished speaking, and she gave him an expectant look. Flitwick blinked.

"Ah- your inkwell?"

Her inkwell joined the floating quill, and Hermione could see real excitement in Flitwick's eyes.

"Your spellbook?"

Getting the spellbook to float while already holding two other things aloft was harder, but Hermione managed it, careful to keep a calm smile on her lips as she did, not letting anyone else see her struggle. When she sent all three to circle Flitwick's head, he clapped his hands with a laugh.

"Oh, well done, Miss Granger! Twenty points to Slytherin, for sheer skill! Why don't you help the others – you've obviously got the hang of it!"

He went off to help Tracey, who was glaring at her feather as if it had personally offended her, and Hermione allowed herself a moment to feel smug.

Turning, she caught Draco's eye. He was staring at her, his face inscrutable. With a pause, still flush with pride, Hermione carefully stood and made her way to the higher tiers of the class.

The others were too busy trying to float their own feathers to notice, but Draco's and Theo's eyes tracked her all the way up. She started moving toward them, making both of their eyes widen, before she stopped, next to Crabbe and Goyle.

Goyle was trying to make his feather fly by blowing it into the air as subtly as he could, while Crabbe had given up and was coloring his feather in with ink. Hermione gestured toward them wordlessly and raised an eyebrow at Draco, and saw as comprehension crossed his face.

To her annoyance, he looked torn, and Hermione felt a rush of rage. _Still_ , he doubted her? Just because of his weird hang-ups about the cleanliness of her blood? Counting to five in her head, Hermione took a slow breath in, held it, and let it out.

"If they're holding Slytherin back, does it really matter who helps them?" she said quietly, holding Draco's eyes with hers. "Are you really so set on your baseless judgement of me that you'd let them suffer? Let the whole _house_ suffer?"

Draco bit his lip and glanced at Theo, who inclined his head, demurring comment. Hermione watched as an internal struggle waged itself across his face, before, with a dramatic sigh, he waved at her, granting her permission.

"I suppose tutoring from you couldn't make them any _worse_ ," he said, with a sneer aimed at the two boys. "And it could very likely help matters at least a little bit."

Hermione inclined her head back to him, the only grace she could manage in her irritation.

 _Prat._

Vincent and Greg looked confused when she sat down between them, but amenable enough once she explained she was going to help them. The first thing was making sure they had the proper wand movement down; the second was realizing they had accidentally swapped wands.

By the end of the class, Greg was able to do the proper wand movement and pronunciation, and Vincent was able to do the proper swish and flick. It wasn't much, but when only three people in the class had managed to do the spell at all, it seemed like progress to Hermione.


	19. Halloween

Hermione's happiness at her victory in Charms class was short-lived, however, by Potions.

The potion was simple enough – a Pepper-Up Potion – but most of the class kept confusing their beetle shells with preserved scarabs and miscounting their stirs. She and Theo finished in half the time, with a perfect potion. Snape approved of the potion, nodding once over their cauldron, before, for perhaps the first time ever, directing them to help their useless classmates, as he "couldn't possibly keep _every_ idiot from mucking it all up at this rate."

Hermione and Theo exchanged a wordless look, before Theo went for the Slytherin side of the classroom, Hermione walking over to the Gryffindor side.

Everyone had recently started over, it seemed, and, judging from the frantic looks on faces and sweat coating brows, likely not for the first time. Hermione gently dissuaded two Gryffindor girls from putting in the wrong ingredient and helped them line up all their ingredients in the order they'd need them, receiving a grateful look in response. Dean Thomas and his partner just needed correction on their stirring speed and what "counter-clockwise" meant. Snape was berating Neville Longbottom, who had turned his cauldron into slowly-spreading red sludge, so it was with caution that Hermione carefully stepped around to Harry and Ron's cauldron.

Immediately, Hermione noticed problems: their ingredients weren't prepared correctly, their cauldron was set at the wrong temperature, and they had an oak stirring rod instead of a proper rowan one. Hermione stepped next to Harry, correcting him on how to cut and chop and crush the ingredients needed. As she pointed out the flame was too hot, which would cause everything to react faster and not mature for the needed time, she noticed Ron's face was red. By the time she got to the stirring rod, explaining that they had grabbed the wrong one, Ron was nearly shaking. Hermione felt a moment of pity; she'd be embarrassed if she'd gotten everything wrong, too, but she was their friend, so surely it wasn't that bad?

Hermione returned to her seat after helping her classmates to get started on her homework assignment. The rest of class passed uneventfully, save Neville's cauldron beginning to rumble like a volcano. After class, they all spilled out into the hallway, eager to get to the Halloween feast, Hermione following behind the crush of students.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her!"

Hermione's heart stopped. She edged forward, craning her neck around Goyle to see.

"She's a nightmare, honestly!" Ron was ranting to Harry. "No wonder the Slytherins don't want to be her friend!"

The venom in his tone caught her off guard, and betrayal lanced across Hermione's heart, sharp and painful. She could feel that her eyes were welling up, to her mortification, and she shoved past them, hurrying to get out of the hallway. There were other Slytherins here – she couldn't let them see her cry. She _couldn't_.

"I think she heard you," she heard Harry say behind her, but Hermione ran on.

She locked herself in the first girl's bathroom she came to and sank to the ground in a corner, crying into her knees. She'd thought they were _friends_. Not great, mind you, but they all studied and did homework together. And with her being in Slytherin, it wasn't like she _had_ many friends. She cherished the few close ones she'd made (she _thought_ she'd made) in Gryffindor - but Ron had been so _vicious_ , and she'd only been trying to _help!_

Hermione stayed there, crying as quietly as she could. All her frustration at not being included and at Ron's hurtful words seeped out in the form of tears, and for once, it felt _good_ to let go and not care about keeping up a strong front.

Hermione heard someone come in, and to her horror, it was Daphne.

"…Hermione?"

Hermione looked up defiantly, tears still brimming in her eyes. "What?"

Daphne looked thrown. "Are… are you okay?"

Hermione bit her lip and tried not to burst into tears again. "…No."

Daphne looked very uncomfortable. With a careful look back at the door, she sank to the ground next to Hermione, looking her in the face.

"What happened?"

Hermione blinked. It was very rare for Daphne to even look at her, let alone speak to her.

Haltingly, Hermione related what had happened in Potions class and Ron's vitriol afterwards. Daphne's face grew harder.

"Weasley is a piece of trash," she said. "You're worth _ten_ of him. A hundred, even. Don't let him get to you. How _dare_ he."

Hermione felt partially better, just hearing the venom in Daphne's tone. It felt _good_ to know that someone else was angry and upset for her – even as weird as it was to have _Daphne_ supporting her in her time of need.

"Weasley will get what's coming to him," Daphne pronounced. She stood. "Take your time here, Hermione – the feast will last for an hour. Come up after you've cleaned yourself up a bit and can sit there like his words meant nothing – like a proud Slytherin should."

Hermione nodded, sniffing. Daphne looked like she was considering something.

"…It's okay to cry, you know," she told her finally. "Just… only around friends and house mates, you know? Never let them know they got to you. That's how you let them win."

Daphne left the bathroom after that pronouncement, leaving Hermione to stare after her, wiping her eyes.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Hermione was feeling much better.

She'd splashed her face with water, and the puffy redness in her eyes was almost gone. She was hoping with all the flickering candlelight in the Great Hall that no one would be able to tell, when she heard a loud rumble, and a horrible, rancid smell reached her nose.

She slowly turned around.

There was a troll in the bathroom.

It stood nearly twelve feet tall, with its skin a mottled gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. The smell coming from it was horrendous. It was holding a huge, wooden club, dragging it along the floor as it walked.

Its eyes seemed to swim, before they focused on Hermione, and it lurched towards her.

She screamed.

Hermione scrambled for cover under a sink, her mind racing. The creature could reach anything in the bathroom, including her – how could she possibly escape?

The creature grunted and bashed a sink out the wall next to her, the porcelain loudly clanging to the ground, and Hermione screamed again, dashing out and crouching against the wall. The troll continued knocking sinks out of the wall as it advanced toward her, sending water spraying everywhere, and Hermine felt faint.

A loud noise came from the other side of the bathroom, and as the troll turned to look, Hermione took her chance. Climbing up on one of the few remaining sinks, she jumped and hung on to the door of the bathroom cubicle, before swinging a leg up to straddle it. Carefully, very carefully, she pulled herself towards the wall and pulled herself up using a wall sconce, before reaching for the ledge around the top of the bathroom.

Hermione had never been very strong, and had never been able to do more than three pull-ups at a time, but in this instance, fear was a great motivator, and Hermione climbed up on top of the ledge.

Leaning against the wall and taking deep breaths, Hermione looked, suddenly realizing there were other people in the bathroom now – Harry and Neville had appeared, and they were throwing things at the troll. Hermione watched as Harry took a great running jump at the troll as it started for Neville, and the troll suddenly howled in pain, thrashing about. It seemed Harry's wand had gone up its nose.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Hermione was surprised to see Neville with his wand in the air, looking shocked by his own actions, but he directed the floating piece of rubble to crash into the troll, to no obvious effect.

Neville's casting sparked a memory and Hermione whipped out her own wand.

"Harry, jump! _Incendio!_ "

With a yell, Harry dived off the troll as its clothes caught fire, the smell of burning flesh starting to permeate the room. Hermione could see the moment the troll realized and went to make for the sinks.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Hermione felt the spell take hold as she arrested the troll's club. The troll stopped and seemed surprised by the abrupt loss of his club, even as he burned. He yelled, swiping the air for it, and Hermione let it hover for a long moment, waiting, before letting it crash down onto the troll's head.

The troll's eyes rolled up, and it crashed into the ground face-first. There was a long moment as they watched the flames die in a puddle of water, everyone waiting to see what would happen, before Harry carefully crept towards it.

"Is it dead?"

"I think it's just knocked out," Hermione ventured, and Harry whipped around to glance up at her. The quirk of his lips told her he hadn't realized where she'd gone. She watched as Harry carefully removed his wand from the troll's nose and wiped it on the troll's trousers.

"Why is there a _troll_ in the school?" Hermione asked finally. "Are we supposed to kill it?"

"I am surprised, Miss Granger, that it did not kill _you_."

The three turned to look at the doorway, where Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Quirrell were standing. Professor Quirrell looked at the troll, whimpered, and sank down onto a toilet, and Hermione snorted in disgust.

Harry's eyes went wide. "How long have you been there?"

The professors ignored his question. Snape advanced toward the troll and bent over it. McGonagall was looking at them all, looking furious. Her lips were white, she was so angry.

"What on earth were you thinking?" she said, cold fury in her voice. Her eyes scanned over Neville and Harry, making them both flinch. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Professor Snape was looking at Hermione expectantly. With a sigh, Hermione sat down on the ledge, resisting the urge to swing her feet.

"Professor McGonagall, I suspect they were looking for _me."_

Professor McGonagall looked up, raising a prim eyebrow.

"And why, Miss Granger, were you not in _your_ dormitory?"

Hermione bit her lip, looked to Neville and Harry, and took a careful breath.

"I never made it to the feast," she admitted. "I was in here, crying, since the end of classes. Ron said something horrible about me, and I hid so no one would see my tears."

Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall's face shifted from fury to horror to pity, though she could tell she was trying not to react.

"Miss Granger…" Professor McGonagall's voice was softer, now.

"I had just cleaned up and was going to join the feast when the troll came in. I had no idea there was a troll loose at all, or I would have been in my dormitory, I promise you."

Professor McGonagall rounded on Neville and Harry, fixing them with a stern eye.

"And I expect _you_ two just had to come and save her?"

Obviously nervous, they babbled out something about overhearing one of the Slytherin girls tell another one that Hermione had been crying, and they realized she didn't know about the troll and was in danger. Neville was blushing horribly while trying to get the story out, while Harry looked defiant.

With a sigh, Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points, and Miss Granger, five points to Slytherin. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They shuffled out, Neville casting a fearful glance back at Snape as they left. Quirrell managed to get to his feet and stagger out after them, leaving Hermione alone in the bathroom with Snape and an unconscious troll.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "Can you get down?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "I was mostly running on adrenaline when I got up here. I'm not sure I'm dexterous enough to climb back down."

With a sigh, Snape muttered something beneath his breath, and he began to rise.

Hermione stared, unable to help herself. She'd never seen a person fly before, not without some sort of broom. But Snape – he was just floating up –

He reached the ledge, and, fixing her with a resigned look, opened his arms. Hermione hesitated only a moment before hurling herself into them, hugging him tightly around the waist.

"There will be no discussion of this with your classmates, Miss Granger." His voice was dark.

"Never," Hermione promised, as he led them into a slow descent. "I'll keep your secrets, I promise."

There was a bump as they landed, and Hermione let go, taking a step back. Snape's eyes were on her, inscrutable.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she said politely, and Snape snorted.

"If there were ever a student less in need of rescuing, it would be you, Miss Granger," he said. "I just opted for the path of least destruction – who knows what further property damage you would cause, getting down from there."

Hermione blinked in surprise, and Snape's mouth curled up at one corner, into the smallest smirk.

"Ten points to Slytherin for quick thinking and recognizing when to strategically retreat," he said. There was a pause, and his eyes hardened. "And twenty points from Gryffindor for bullying."

Hermione shivered at the murderous look in Snape's eyes. She didn't envy Ron one bit.


	20. The Ritual

The rest of the feast was being held in the common rooms, and when Hermione returned to the depths of the castle, there was a moment of silence as her classmates took in her appearance – covered in water and porcelain dust as she was. Hermione walked defiantly, regardless of the white powder clinging to her hair and the state of her robes. She'd just fought a troll and _won._ She could look a mess if she wanted to.

She stalked towards her dormitory, whispers following her as she left.

As she changed, Tracey and Millie wandered in, one of them carrying a plate. They sat on Hermione's bed, watching as she pulled on fresh robes.

"What happened?" Tracey said finally. Hermione cast her a look.

"A troll wandered into the bathroom I was in," Hermione said. "That's what happened."

Millie and Tracey's eyes went huge, and Hermione found herself telling them exactly what had happened. Tracey had brought a plate of food for Hermione, and Hermione used some of the sweets to show them the exact layout of the bathroom.

"You say Harry and Neville tried to rescue you?" Tracey said. She exchanged a look with Millie. "That's pretty daring."

"It was pretty stupid of them," Hermione corrected. "Still, I'm glad they did it." She paused. "Though, I'm not sure if they were motivated so much out of heroism and friendship as much as guilt for what Ron said."

Tracey and Millie's faces darkened immediately.

"He is our enemy, now," Millie pronounced, something dangerous in her tone.

"Who's our enemy, now?" Pansy said as she entered the room, tossing her hair. Daphne wasn't far behind her.

"Ronald Weasley," Tracey said. "For his offenses against Hermione and our house."

Daphne turned to look at them, before moving over and joining them on Hermione's bed. She looked at Pansy expectantly, who huffed but joined them as well.

"Well?" Daphne prompted.

Hesitating at first, but gaining strength as she went, Hermione told the story of the bathroom and the troll again. The other girls gasped as she described the way it crushed the sink next to her, and there were genuine expressions of terror and shock as she described climbing out of the way and the boys' fight with the beast. When she told them how she lit it on fire and knocked it out with its own club, their expressions turned to admiration and wary respect.

"And you were in there because of Ron Weasley?" Pansy said, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione bit her lip, before nodding.

"He said 'It's no wonder no one can stand me,'" Hermione recited. "That 'I'm a nightmare' and 'no wonder the Slytherins don't want to be my friend'."

The other girls exchanged a look.

"When the professors caught us in the bathroom, I admitted that I'd been hiding and upset from Ron's bullying," Hermione said. "It kept the two boys out of trouble, and redirected McGonagall's rage away from us to Ron." She paused. "Snape took points from Gryffindor for his bullying, too. So that's a plus."

There was a silence, and Hermione felt uncomfortable. The other girls seemed to be looking at each other, an entire conversation encompassed within their glances. None of them looked at her. Tracey looked excited, Millie wary, and Pansy exasperated.

Daphne looked pensive for a long moment, before she looked up at Hermione.

"House Slytherin is gathered to unite against a common enemy," she said, her eyes hard. "We unite our hearts, our minds, and our magic to bring down our foe and keep Slytherin strong."

Her words had the ring of magic to them, and Hermione watched as she continued.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," Daphne murmured, placing her hand on the bed in the center between the girls. "He has injured me and mine, he has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

The other girls all looked to each other with wide eyes. Even Hermione could sense something formal was happening, and she tried to look like she understood.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," Tracey repeated, moving suddenly to put her hand on top of Daphne's. "He has injured me and mine. He has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

Hermione gasped as strings of green light came from under Daphne's hand, floating in the air next to Tracey's.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," Millie declared, clapping her hand on top of the pile. "He has injured me and mine, he has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

The glowing strings lengthened, and Hermione's eyes widened even more.

Everyone looked to Pansy, who was pouting, before she rolled her eyes and huffed.

"All right," she said snidely. "But this is only because I don't like Weasley, you know."

She moved closer, laying her hand on top of Millie's, and when Pansy spoke, there was a sudden weight to her words.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," she intoned. "He has injured me and mine, he has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

They all looked to her, and after a torn moment, Hermione put her hand down on the top.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," she said quietly. "He has injured me and mine. He has made us his enemy… and we shall stand together to bring him down."

The floating strings of energy began moving quickly, tying knots between everyone's hands and wrists, leaving almost after-images of bright neon green light hanging in the air.

"This we so swear," Daphne said. "We swear in our hearts to recognize him as our enemy. We swear in our minds to plot his demise. And we swear by our magic to protect each other and bring him down. We swear this by House Slytherin, united against our foe. This we so swear."

There was a tense moment as the green light slashed around all their hands, before all their hands began to pulse and glow.

"This we so swear!"

Hermione hadn't realized she had spoken with the others – it just happened, the words forcing themselves from her lips – but there was a jolt of energy that shot through and up her arm, before the rest of the green energy broke apart into little green flakes, slowly dissipating into the air.

The other girls were looking at their hands in shock, before looking at Hermione in surprise. Daphne's face was a mixture of pride and determination.

"That _hurt_ ," Tracey said, stretching her arm. " _Damn._ "

"I've never done a ritual like that before," Pansy admitted. "I mean, not a _real_ one."

"We've never had real enemies before," Daphne said. "Not really."

The girls all nodded softly, exchanging looks, before quietly going about their evening routines without a word.

Hermione couldn't stop her mind from racing. She felt as if something had shifted inside of her, something she couldn't come back from. She'd declared Ron her _enemy_. She'd sworn to act against him – to _actively_ bring him down.

But hadn't Ron started that in the first place? He'd called her names and been cruel since the start of the year, he'd abandoned her to Filch, and today he'd said such horrid things… if anyone had declared the other an enemy, _Ron_ had done it first.

And the girls… it'd let her bond with the other Slytherin girls…

Hermione fell asleep that night with an anxious feeling in her stomach, but with a small smile on her face.


	21. United

The next day, as Hermione waited in the common room for Tracey and Millie to come down, Draco Malfoy approached her. Hermione looked at him in surprise. Draco straightened his back, took a deep breath, and spoke with determination.

"I understand that the Slytherin girls declared Weasley foe to House Slytherin last evening."

Hermione stared at him. It was 7:00am – how, exactly, had someone gotten that information to him so fast?

Draco stood there, waiting, and Hermione realized he was expecting a response.

"We did," Hermione said slowly, nodding. Draco nodded once.

"If Weasley is foe to you girls, he shall be foe to the rest of us as well," he told her, extending his hand. "Our year will remain united and act as one."

He seemed to be waiting for a response from her, and Hermione wracked her brain for an appropriate phrase to say here from her etiquette books, pulling bits and pieces of formal phrasing together that seemed like they might work.

"Our year of House Slytherin is united against our common enemy," she told him, carefully putting her hand in his. "We are united in purpose to use our hearts, our minds, and our magic to bring down our foe and keep Slytherin strong."

There was a sharp flare of bright green magic as they shook hands, and Draco snapped his hand back, shaking it as though he was stung.

"Merlin, Granger," he said finally, looking at her with a new respect in his eyes. "Did you zap the other girls that badly?"

"We had each other to balance out everyone's power surge," Daphne said, descending from the stairs and joining them. She raised an eyebrow to Hermione. "You've united our pact with that of the boys'?"

"I- I have," Hermione said. She looked to Draco. "When did you…?"

"Last night, after Daphne told us of Weasley's bullying," Draco said. Hermione was astonished by his casual manner, and the lack of disdain in his eyes. "Blaise acted as stone, and I acted as seam."

"I was stone," Daphne told Draco. "Pansy seemed to want to be seam, but there's no way – we all know who the most powerful witch in our year is," Daphne admitted, casting a respectful look at Hermione, "though we may have, at first, been reluctant to admit it."

Tracey and Millie came down, their eyes wide as they saw Daphne and Draco talking to Hermione. They slowly edged over, and Hermione was relieved when Pansy and Blaise came down moments later.

Blaise looked over the group, shaking his head with an amused smirk.

"Breakfast, then?"

* * *

It was a new experience to be included in the Slytherin breakfast discussions.

Most of the discussion had centered around Charms, and the difficulty of making a feather fly. Draco had expressed his frustration with it, while Theo had commented that at least they'd made a better showing than the Gryffindors. Pansy had simpered at Draco, telling him she was sure he'd get it first next time (at this, her eyes slid over to Hermione), while Theo and Blaise exchanged a disgusted look.

There was a loud 'bang' from the Gryffindor table, and as one, Slytherin looked over with disgust.

It seemed that the Weasley twins had put a firecracker in one of the bowls of bacon. Bits of bacon and grease had gone everywhere, and Professor McGonagall was rapidly descending to put a stop to the madness. Ron Weasley was particularly angry, having been the person reaching for the bacon in the first place and having gotten a face full of it.

The Slytherins turned back to their own breakfasts, but a certain ominous feeling had settled over them.

"I've never declared someone enemy before," Greg admitted. "How do we do this? I can punch him after classes."

"That'll just get you in trouble," Daphne said. "If you have to punch him, wear a hood and put on a Ravenclaw tie or something – he's stupid enough that he might not recognize you."

"We could steal his bag and sabotage his homework," Theo suggested. "His marks would drop, and he'd get in trouble for that."

"That might be harder than you think," Hermione said. "His marks are already dismal – any sabotaging we would do could only improve his work."

There was a collective smirk at this, before they lapsed back into pensive silence. They all sat there, thinking.

"When my father wants to bring an enemy down," Draco said slowly, "he usually begins by finding out everything he can about the person. He then either blackmails them, or he works toward changing the public opinion of the person so the public brings them down."

The Slytherins looked to each other.

"We could make the teachers all hate him?" Blaise suggested. "It'll be easier than all the students. And if the teachers all hate him and he keeps losing points, all the Gryffindors will definitely start to hate him."

"How do we get the professors to hate him, though?" Hermione asked. "It's not that easy."

Draco's eyes turned to her, and there was a flare of satisfaction in them.

"That, Granger, is where you're wrong."

* * *

At lunch, Draco had told her not to worry, that The Plan would be ready by Saturday. He and Theo and Blaise were hard at work on it, taking input from Daphne. From his tone of voice and word choice, it almost seemed like he wanted to _impress_ her with this plan. It was strange enough having Draco talk to her directly, after being snubbed for two months, but the idea of him trying to _impress_ her was beyond odd. Hermione wondered if the social rules had changed because the ritual had "united them against a common foe," but there really was no real way to know. So Hermione let it go and focused on her lunch.

After classes that day, Hermione waited patiently in the dungeons for Snape's NEWT level class to leave. A few minutes of waiting later, the doors opened, and students poured out, all of them looking stressed and highly relieved.

Hermione knocked twice on the door, though it was still open. "Professor?"

Professor Snape looked up from his desk immediately, his eyes sharp. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"May I come in?"

His lip curled. "Unless you prefer to shout your business down the corridor."

Hermione flushed as she entered the classroom and quickly closed the door. "I didn't want to presume upon your time, sir," she explained, moving to take the chair Snape had conjured for her. "I don't know if you have office hours for this sort of thing."

"For Slytherins, I am at your disposal," Snape said silkily. His eyes glinted. "Now, Miss Granger – what have you come to discuss?"

Hermione hesitated, considering her wording carefully.

"I… think I may have broken a rule," she told him. "I am hoping you have a student handbook around that I can look things up in."

"A student handbook?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, a list of all the rules we have to follow here at Hogwarts, all the policies and punishments and so on."

Snape's gaze was fixed on her.

"And _why_ ," he said, "would you, Miss Granger, at the top of your class and nary a point lost – why would _you_ want such a thing?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"…I think I was involved in casting forbidden magic," she admitted. "I don't really know – it hasn't been covered in any of my books."

Snape's eyebrow rose higher. " _Forbidden magic?"_

Faltering, Hermione told him the story of the ritual she'd participated in the night before – how the other Slytherins had planned it before they'd even come to talk to her, how Daphne had said words and put her hand on the bottom, how the green power had appeared, how it meant something when Hermione put her hand on the top, and how she'd unwittingly united the house by shaking hands with Draco in the morning when both of them had gotten zapped.

She finished with that part, not wanting to go into detail about how the first year Slytherins were actively plotting Ron Weasley's downfall.

Snape's scowl had disappeared, and his eyes had darkened even further. He took a breath, staring at her in silence, before he finally spoke.

"Ritual magic is how magic used to be cast, Miss Granger," he told her quietly. "Before wands, all magic was channeled through the ground, through circles and words and chanting and candles. Some magic required sacrifices, others blood, and rituals could run astray when the power summoned was too much to be contained by those in the circle."

"Rituals have largely fallen out of favor," he continued. "Wands are simpler, and more elegant; there is a need, and there is a spell for that – no coven, no candles, no chanting, no mess."

"However, not everything has a spell for it, and rituals still _work_ , if they are performed. Many pureblood families pass down stories of some rituals that they teach their children. The one you unwittingly helped perform is one of them that is particularly well-known – The Fallen Foe."

Hermione bit her lip. "It wasn't very complicated, though. It was just us saying words and making a stack of our hands. There weren't any candles or anything."

"A ritual doesn't need to be complicated, necessarily. A ritual is a focusing of magic and intent. Your ritual united you all and your magic toward causing the downfall of Mr. Weasley." Snape's eyes glittered. "Should you and your fellow participants begin working toward this goal, you shall find it perhaps… easier, than you had anticipated. Magic will help you along the way."

Hermione swallowed. "Did… I break a rule then?"

Snape's eyebrow rose. "Declaring a foe is an old tradition, one that is rarely used but highly protected – the Great Houses would rebel against the school if they could not declare threats to their House's welfare as foes. It is _not_ forbidden, Miss Granger, but I would advise you not to speak of it to any others. It is not exactly customary magic, nor 'white', if you understand."

Hermione nodded slowly, then paused. "…are there more rituals, sir?"

Snape's eyes hardened, and Hermione hurried to explain.

"Only, I'm trying to fit in in Slytherin house, and I had _no idea_ what Daphne was doing, and it was lucky I got it right at all, and I don't want to be left behind again," she rushed out. "If you have a book about basic rituals, the ones that all the pureblood parents teach their children, I could read it and understand when they say such things."

Snape looked at her long and hard before releasing a sigh. He stood, went to the opposite door of the classroom, and disappeared behind it for a long moment. Hermione sat still in her chair, waiting, resisting the urge to bounce her foot. Snape returned a moment later, holding a dark-clad book.

"This will give you the information you are looking for," he told her. His eyes were sharp. "Do _not_ let the others see you reading it, especially not the faculty. If you are caught, do _not_ tell anyone where you got it. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. She reached into her bag and pulled out a stretchy, green and blue colored cloth pocket. Snape eyed it with distaste.

"Miss Granger, what is _that?_ "

"A book sock – a Muggle book cover," she told him, stretching it over the hard cover of the ominous-looking book. "In this case, a book disguise."

She shut the book and showed him. The cover was now covered in light green and blue pastels, and for the world, looked like a Muggle book of stories – not a book full of ancient and ominous magic.

Hermione was pleased to see Snape's lips quirk upwards.

"Five points to Slytherin for clever thinking," he murmured. He turned to her, his eyes narrowing. "Now get out. Don't you have some reading to do?"

It was all too cheerfully that Hermione skipped out of the dungeons, clutching the book to her chest.


	22. The Eagle's Nest

Homework had been light that week, with even the teachers in a celebratory Halloween spirit, so Hermione went up to Ravenclaw tower to read her new book.

The others looked up as she came in, but she was met with nods and small smiles. She'd come up to study with Terry Boot a few times now, and with the "password" being merely a riddle, it seemed that the Ravenclaw common room was welcome to anyone who wanted to join in in academic pursuits.

Curling up on a window seat with perfectly-positioned blue pillows, Hermione began to read.

The book wasn't exactly what Hermione expected, and her eyes grew large as she continued. Just the introduction was a tirade against the dumbing down of magic, of the Old Ways being forgotten, and how ritual magic was a wizard's heritage and the way to access True Power, and how rituals should not be forgotten. There were casual references to the power of blood and sacrifice that gave Hermione the impression that such things were normal components of rituals. The names of some of the rituals, such as _The Dark Way_ and _Misery to All Ye Who Oppose Me,_ gave her pause. The introduction concluded with a plea for wizards to return to the way of rituals for all meaningful magic, and to leave the small, non-important magic to the wand.

The next part dealt with the types of rituals and different components. Hermione was fascinated to read about the different structures – if she learned the different parts, it seemed that she would be able to create her own rituals, if she truly understood it all. She happily dissected the ritual they'd done in the dormitory – the "stone" was the witch who began the ceremony and directed the power toward its end purpose, and the "seam" was the witch who had the justification to do the ritual (in her case, Ron's bullying) and whose power would unite them all in purpose and mind.

Hermione was a bit flattered to realize that Daphne had meant her compliment about Hermione being the most powerful witch in their year. The stone and seam were serious responsibilities. Knowing what she knew now, Hermione would have expected her hand to be placed second-to-last, with Daphne directing Pansy to put her hand on the top – Pansy's hatred of the Weasleys was common knowledge and would have been enough to fuel the spell as the one who 'needed' the ritual. Instead, Daphne had directed her to be the seam, and even Pansy had acquiesced with only a snarky remark but no real objection.

Maybe her efforts were finally beginning to pay off. Their last Charms class had been impressive, and Potions was good too. It was her defeat of the troll, though, that Hermione suspected had been the catalyst for this change. She doubted any of the others would have had the strength to set the troll on fire – _Incendio_ was in the last third of their spell book, and they probably wouldn't learn it until March at the earliest. And all the others probably would have frozen in fear, not been compelled to escape and move.

Hermione spent an enjoyable afternoon reading about other ritual configurations – the pentagram, the seven-star, the triangle of totality, and so on. She only realized how late it was in the day when Anthony Goldstein interrupted her, putting a hand on her knee.

"I'm not sure you're aware of this," he said, with a small smile, "but everyone else is leaving for dinner."

"Ah!" Hermione sat up abruptly, flushing. She hurriedly tucked her book into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry – I didn't realize."

"No matter – I certainly know what it's like to get caught up in a good book." He grinned at her, and Hermione found herself grinning back. Anthony paused, before awkwardly holding his arm out, his elbow pointy. "May I escort you to dinner?"

Hermione blinked at him, trying to hide her astonishment at his offer as her mind raced through the social implications. An escort to dinner was an indication of respect for a witch and fondness, generally only done with witches of high class, and could indicate an intent to court her or that she was being courted – Anthony was a Goldstein, halfblood due to a Muggleborn grandfather, still of admirable status in magical society by virtue of his family name, and apparently educated in pureblood etiquette-

Anthony stood there awkwardly with his elbow extended, a strained smile on his face. He looked awfully cute, Hermione reflected, blond hair hanging ever just-too-long over his ears, and he was trying not to bite his lip.

Decision made, Hermione flounced to her feet and took his arm. "I would love if you would escort me to dinner," she told him, rewarding him with a dazzling smile.

Anthony looked surprised and a little dazed, but he regrouped admirably enough, and it was with great purpose and pride he escorted her out of Ravenclaw tower and down the stairs, making idle conversation about levitation charms. He confessed that he was still having more difficulty with them than he wanted, despite the seeming simplicity of the charm. Hermione offered that if she focused on the bottom of the object specifically, of supporting it on a wave of wind or power when trying to lift it, levitating objects felt easier than when she just focused on the object as a whole, trying to overcome its weight with sheer will. She admitted she didn't know if that was how the spell was _supposed_ to be done, but it worked just as well, had the same wand movements, and the same results, so he might as well try it next time?

As he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, Anthony looked at her like she'd just handed him a bag of gold.

"Thank you," he told her, his eyes earnest. He paused. "You know you're smart, of course, but you really are brilliant. You think of things in ways no one else does like it's effortless." He smiled and bowed over her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "It's been my pleasure speaking with you, Hermione. Thank you for the conversation."

His compliment was delivered with such sincerity and admiration that Hermione flushed, which only deepened at his kiss to her hand. Minding her (much-studied) manners, Hermione inclined her head and gave him a small curtsy (which was terribly difficult to pull off in such a short skirt). Anthony seemed amused but pleased at her efforts and smiled to her as they parted ways, him heading to the Ravenclaw table, her to the Slytherin one.

It was only when she saw her entire year at Slytherin staring at her, mouths agog, that she realized something might be amiss.

A quick glance around the room confirmed that not many people were at dinner yet, and the majority of those who were seemed occupied with eating. A few of the Ravenclaws were giving Anthony appraising looks as he walked toward them, and Ernie Macmillan over at Hufflepuff looked furious for some reason. No one at Gryffindor was batting an eye, and no one at the Head Table seemed to be paying any attention to them.

Hermione took her seat at the Slytherin with as much grace and decorum as she could, acting as if nothing at all had just happened.

"Sorry," she said, nodding to the others. "I got carried away reading before dinner and didn't realize the time."

There were reflexive murmurings of acceptance and forgiveness, and slowly, the other witches turned away from her to resume their conversation – something about Sleekeazy's latest creation, it seemed. They glanced back at her periodically, but Hermione was doing nothing interesting – only eating her food, now.

The boys, however, seemed considerably more interested in her; three of them, at least – Crabbe and Goyle certainly weren't, given they were thumb wrestling in between bites. But Draco was giving her a dark look, one that would fill most people with dread. Blaise looked highly amused, his eyes dancing with mischief, and Theo looked incredulous, though he was trying to hide it.

They all ate their dinners in silence for a long time, the noise of silverware tinging and plates being scraped filling the air.

"That Anthony Goldstein?" Theo said finally.

 _Ha! They broke first._ Hermione smiled to herself, while outwardly, she nodded. "He offered to escort me to dinner," she said, cutting her roast.

"Like when I was playing bodyguard and you made me take you everywhere?"

Hermione's lips curled up at the sides, into a sort of amused half-smile.

"Yes, sort of like that," she mused. "Only, not really like that at all."

Theo sat back in his seat, eyebrows raised, and if it was possible, Draco's face darkened even further.

"Goldstein's certainly not hesitating, then," Blaise said, smirking. "No one's been escorted to dinner yet this year – no one under 4th year, at least."

His matter-of-fact assessment gave Hermione pause. "…You keep track?" she asked carefully.

"Of course," he shrugged. "Need to know the current situation of who is after who, don't I? If I'm going to be stepping on another wizard's toes, I need to know who that wizard is."

He shot her a grin, and Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned back.

"He didn't give you anything, did he?" Draco demanded abruptly.

The conversations amongst any of the first years ceased. Hermione felt all their eyes slowly turn to stare at her.

"A compliment?" Hermione offered, trying to hide her unease. "He walked me to dinner. That was all."

The others slowly turned away to refocus on their own plates, Hermione included, as she tried to conceal her confusion. Draco seemed satisfied and less angry at her answer, but Pansy was looking at Draco as if he'd grown a third head – a mixture of anger, shock, and betrayal, that didn't seem to fit on her face, given the situation.

Daphne seemed to realize the uncomfortable situation.

"Meeting tomorrow night at eight, in the corner of the common room by the lake," Daphne reminded them all, her social graces smoothing over the situation.

"Quidditch tomorrow," Greg grunted, and Draco gave him an annoyed look.

"It's not likely to go all day," he told him. "If we win, there will be a party, and we can talk in the corner with no one knowing any better. If we lose, there will be sulking and angry talk, and no one will pay attention to us anyway."

"If we lose?" Blaise looked at Draco with horror. "Surely you don't think we're going to _lose_ to Gryffindor, do you?"

That started them bickering about Quidditch, something decidedly more normal to hear about at the dinner table, and Hermione managed to finish eating her dinner in relative peace.


	23. Exploring the Corridor

The entire school filed out to watch the Quidditch match the next morning after breakfast. This, to Hermione, seemed the perfect excuse to linger behind, dart back inside, and explore the forbidden third-floor corridor.

Hermione felt prepared. She had with her a proper explorer's kit, assembled from many jaunts around the castle and odds owls sent to her parents. Her father, upon hearing she wanted to make an explorer's kit, had seemed oddly enthusiastic about sending her a backpack filled with a bedroll, mess kit, tinderbox, torches, lock picks, army rations, a waterskin, a crowbar, 50 feet of rope, and a grappling hook – one or two items at a time. By the time she was done assembling everything, the entire pack was incredibly heavy, and Hermione took out the rations, bedroll, and torches to help lighten it – she certainly didn't plan on staying in the corridor for _days_ , despite her father's odd insistence.

Hermione had also gotten a music wand from Madam Pomfrey. Hermione had gone to the infirmary, pleading homesickness, and the nurse had given her the wand, suggesting a lullaby to help her get to sleep. The nurse had fixed her with a sharp look, telling her she wasn't about to give out Dreamless Sleep potions to young children for homesickness, but Hermione had been genuinely grateful for the music wand, and Madam Pomfrey's face had softened.

After carefully looking around the area surrounding the third floor corridor, Hermione activated the music wand and aimed an _Alohomora_ at the door.

The giant, three-headed dog was still there, but as Hermione watched it, its face and ears seemed to droop with sleep, charmed by the Mozart issuing from the music wand. Hermione watched as it collapsed onto its paws, all its heads beginning to snore, and Hermione quickly shut the door behind her.

The trap door was just behind the dog, and Hermione was lucky it hadn't been blocked by the dog when it had collapsed. She was surprised to discover that the door opened with just a pull, but uneasy to see that it opened into black nothingness.

Biting her lip, Hermione left the music wand playing near the trapdoor, floating a few feet off the ground. It had an hour before it would automatically stop and need to be manually restarted again. She got out her grappling hook, and, after carefully wedging it onto the trap door and the floor (breaking some of the floor in the process – the grappling hook had sharper hooks than she'd thought), Hermione tied the end of the rope to her middle and began to climb down into the dark.

It was rough going. Her arms ached at holding her weight, and her hands were burning on the coarseness of the rope. As she climbed, Hermione nearly wished she'd brought a silken one, though she doubted it would have been strong enough.

Finally, Hermione reached the end of the rope, with still no end in sight. With a _Lumos_ , Hermione peered below her, only to see that there seemed to be something green at the bottom – a bottom that was very, _very_ far down.

It was as if she was supposed to just _jump._ Which seemed incredibly stupid, to Hermione – how was she supposed to get back _up_ , if she jumped?

Muttering angrily, Hermione began to pull herself back up the rope. After a short while, though, she realized that her arms were beginning to burn and shake. Going down the rope had been a bit easier – climbing back _up_ it _hurt._

Hermione bit her lip, nearly drawing blood, as she tried to handle the pain in her arms. She _couldn't_ just stay here – they would find her, and what would Snape say then? He wouldn't be happy with her, with her just dangling in the breeze in a forbidden area.

Thinking of Snape gave Hermione an idea. Dismissing her _Lumos_ spell, Hermione craned her body and aimed her wand at her robes with a careful swish and flick.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

To her immense relief, she felt the spell take hold of her robes, lifting her slightly. Biting her lip, Hermione tucked her wand into her waist, being sure to keep her mental focus on the spell, and began to climb once more.

It was _hard_ , keeping the spell going without using her wand, especially while she climbed, but Hermione could _feel_ the spell on her body, lifting her just enough to take some of her bodyweight off of her arms, allowing her to climb back up the fifty feet to the top without her arms giving out.

When she finally made it out, hauling herself over the lip and collapsing onto the stone floor, it felt even harder to get back on her feet, put away the grappling hook, and close the trapdoor. The giant dog was still sleeping, and Hermione staggered to the door with the music wand, opening and closing the entrance and relocking it before finally turning off the music wand.

Unable to make it all the way to the dungeons, Hermione staggered into the nearby trophy room, leaned up against the wall in a corner, and promptly collapsed.

* * *

When Hermione awoke, it was dark out, and she felt much, _much_ better.

Her arms _ached_ , and Hermione reckoned she hadn't done that much physical activity in at least half a year. She seemed to have magically exhausted herself as well. Hermione hoped that whatever the _Get Ron Weasley_ plan entailed, it wouldn't entail her casting any spells tonight. She could tell only a small part of her power had returned to her.

Staggering slightly, Hermione made it to her feet and left the room, making her way slowly down to the dungeons.

"Hermione?"

Hermione turned in the stairwell, surprised.

"…Ernie?"

Ernie stood there, a scroll tucked under his arm. He looked worried. "Are you okay?"

"Mostly?" Hermione admitted, looking herself over. "I'm magically exhausted, but I'll be alright."

"Is that why you missed dinner?" Ernie asked her. "You were too tired?"

"I got carried away practicing the Levitation Charm," Hermione told him, stepping around the truth. "I didn't realize I'd exhausted myself until it was a bit too late."

The worry on Ernie's face smoothed out, and he gave her a small smile.

"I've overdone it on studying a few times before myself," he said. "Want to stop by the kitchens with me and get something to eat?"

Hermione had been planning on eating one of the army rations she'd taken out of her pack, but fresh food sounded _much_ better. "Yes, please."

Ernie led her down to the second floor, to a large picture of a bowl of fruit. Hermione watched as he tickled the pear in the painting, to see it magically morph into a door handle. Judging from Ernie's expression, she hadn't been able to hide her reaction.

"That's incredible," she told him. "How did you figure that out?"

Ernie colored slightly, scratching the back of his neck.

"The prefects told us all," he admitted. "The Hufflepuff common room isn't far from here – it's a secret they let us all in on."

They entered the kitchens, and Hermione stopped short.

" _Those_ ," she said, her eyes wide. "What are… _those?"_

There were masses of short, odd-looking creatures wearing torn (but clean) rags. They had long, floppy ears, gigantic eyes, and bony, thin limbs.

Ernie turned back to look at her, confused.

"The House Elves?" he asked. "They run the kitchens."

Hermione's eyes widened. " _Oh…"_

Looking at them with a new eye, Hermione bit her lip as she watched them. Ernie asked one of them for a plate of sandwiches, and the elf seemed only too happy to go and fetch them.

"This is… they're _happy_ doing this?" Hermione said carefully.

"Yeah." Ernie shrugged. "They feed off the bond they have with a place or a family, and they get pleasure from working and doing a good job serving."

"Are these the only elves in the wizarding world?" Hermione asked. "If these are 'House Elves', are there other elves out there?"

Ernie frowned. "Come to think of it, I have no idea. There might be? Anyway, come over here."

He urged her over to take a seat, where she was presented with a large plate of sandwiches and a mug of pumpkin juice. Her eyes widened.

"This is great," she told the elf. "Thanks."

The elf blushed in pleasure, and murmured that if she needed anything else, to just let her know, before disappearing back into the mess of elves running around.

She and Ernie made light conversation while eating – Ernie mostly told her all about the Quidditch game, while Hermione made appropriate murmurings and gasps along the way, too busy eating for actual words. She came away with an understanding that Harry Potter had almost died from his broom being jinxed, but someone had counter-jinxed it in time to save his life, and in time for him to swoop down and capture the Snitch. Hermione made a mental note to interrogate Harry about that – what on _earth_ had he done to make someone want to jinx him?

After the sandwiches were gone, Ernie and Hermione thanked the elves again, who blushed in pleasure. Hermione paused at the door, before leaving.

"Are you permitted to bring students things in the dormitories?" she asked.

The elves nodded rapidly, looking excited.

"Would you please bring a large tray of… let's say madelines, macarons, and tarts, to the Slytherin common room at 8 o'clock?" she asked, glancing at the clock, and seeing it was quarter 'til. "Is that enough time to make all that?"

The elves nodded rapidly, looking thrilled by the challenge.

"We will have to start right away, Missy Hermione!" one elf told her. "We will be making those right now!"

"Can you get them to the round table in the corner by the lake?" she asked. "The large one, with all the seating near it?"

"You is counting on us, Missy Hermione! Now shoo!"

The elf ushered her out of the kitchens, closing the door firmly behind her, leaving her bewildered in the hallway, Ernie laughing.

"They can be forceful, can't they?" he said, amused.

"They certainly can," Hermione murmured, brushing flour off her rear from the House Elf's hands. "And here, I was worried that they were slaves…"

Ernie looked uneasy.

"It might look like that at first, I guess," he admitted. "But they're more of a creature than a person. They _live_ to work. It's a symbiotic relationship with humans, I guess. We can't exactly hold them to human standards, can we?"

"I suppose not."

Ernie grinned at her.

"Good to talk to you," he said, giving her a strong nod. "See you in class?"

Hermione nodded. "See you, Ernie."

Ernie strode off down the corridor, looking purposeful. Hermione watched him go, before heading back up to the trophy room, grabbing her stashed explorer's kit, slinging it over her shoulder, and heading down to the dungeons.


	24. Plotting

Hermione had to hide her explorer's kit again, this time in an empty classroom in the dungeons. She didn't want awkward questions about it when she arrived for the meeting, and she didn't have time to get to her room and put it away before the meeting was due to start. Hiding it was the best option, regardless of how reluctant Hermione felt about it.

Hermione entered the common room just short of 8 o'clock. The older students were storming around, muttering and playing violent games of gobstones or chess. Hermione's eyes fixed on her year-mates, who were all sitting around the circular table by the lake. Hermione felt a thread of pleasure – with all of them sitting there already, it made it seem like they were waiting for her, even if they weren't.

"So sorry if I'm late," Hermione said, sliding into the last chair as the clock started chiming 8 o'clock behind her. She clapped, looking around at the others. "Shall we get started?"

The House Elves' platter of treats appeared at _just_ that moment, to a murmur from the others. Hermione bit her lip, amused. It seemed almost like she'd made it appear when she clapped. If only she _could_ do something like that.

Greg was the first to descend upon the platter, claiming three of the tarts, before the others sat back with fancy treats in their hands as they began to discuss the plan.

"Ron Weasley is foe to House Slytherin, and we are here, united in purpose, to discuss a plan to bring him down," Daphne began, looking around. Everyone seemed to be nodding. "Right. So, Draco – you have a plan?"

Draco sat up straighter.

"The best way to bring an enemy to ruin is to ruin their reputation in the eyes of others," he told them. "That is much harder to regain than anything so menial as money, from financial ruin, for example."

"Not that the Weasleys have any money to lay ruin to anyway," Blaise muttered. Draco shot him a dark look, Daphne kicked him, and with an "ow!", Blaise shut up.

"The plan is to bring him down in the eyes of the professors, so he loses a lot of points," Draco said. "The easiest way to do this, we think, is to deliberately antagonize Weasley just before a teacher arrives, so the teacher only sees his out-of-proportion reaction."

"Weasley has an explosive temper," Theo agreed. "We can take advantage of this and make him look like a fool who's always about to go off."

They discussed a plan on how best to do this. They concluded that Draco, Greg, and Vincent would be the ones to confront Ron, and that Blaise and Theo would run teacher interference/warnings in the hallways, to ensure the timing was always right.

Part of Hermione found this perversely amusing. They were choreographing fighting in the hallway, just so the other person would get caught. It seemed so inauthentic, but Hermione was well aware that any insults thrown would be all too real in the heat of the moment.

"Next," Draco said, looking down at a small piece of parchment he'd brought. "Granger – you need to attempt to renew your friendship with him."

" _What?_ " Tracey said, growing furious. "After all those things he said?"

"That's exactly why she should do it," Draco said. "The professors will see Hermione being the better person, being gracious and forgiving. The professors all love her – she's at the top of every class. We'll get Weasley to snap at her again – somewhere public, with a lot of the professors around – and when Hermione is upset and starts crying and runs away, the teachers will all be furious with Ron, and he'll feel their _collective_ wrath."

"I'll need to cry in public?" Hermione asked, unsure.

"We'll arrange it so only the necessary people are around," Daphne assured her. "Us, the teachers, maybe some of Ron's friends, some of your friends… we have time to figure out what would have the most impact. We want Ron to utterly disgrace himself in front of people who are predisposed to love you and hate him."

"Lastly," Draco said, glancing at Pansy, who looked irritated but resigned. "Lastly, one of us will attempt to seduce Weasley, and then subsequently break his heart."

" _Seduce_ him?" Hermione said, repulsed. "You do realize he's _eleven?_ "

Theo shot her a look. "And…?"

"I don't think he thinks of girls – or guys, for that matter – that way at all, yet," Hermione said diplomatically. "I don't think he's even begun to hit puberty."

"He's not even starting to look for matches?" Theo asked. "Nothing at all?"

"His parents were a love match," Blaise offered. "I don't think they'd have spoken to him about any of it yet – he may not have even gotten 'the talk'."

"So trying to seduce him would be a wasted effort?" Pansy said, throwing her hands up.

"At least right now," Hermione said, shrugging. "If we're still trying to bring him down in a few years, after he's actually hit puberty – there might be some success there then?"

" _Thank_ you," Pansy said firmly. She shot a dark look at Draco, who was determinedly not looking at her.

"So we'll put that one on hold for now, then," Draco said, marking his sheet. He looked up. "As the plans stand, we will drive him to fury in the hallways, and then make him cut Hermione down in front of a crowd. Agreed?"

Hermione felt uneasy, but she agreed with them nonetheless. Pleased, Draco looked to Daphne, who pronounced the meeting concluded. They started divvying up the remaining treats, and Hermione turned to Tracey.

"I'm not sure the teachers really like me that much to bring wrath down on Ron," Hermione confided in her. "I hope this isn't all some plan to just have me insulted and be seen crying in public."

Tracey opened her mouth to respond, but her eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut a moment later. Hermione looked behind her to see Draco, looking at her.

"It's a good plan, Granger," he told her, frowning. "You agreed with it."

"I did," Hermione said steadily, holding his gaze. "That doesn't mean there mightn't be a secondary motive behind it. We are all Slytherins, after all."

Draco almost looked struck, torn between being hurt at her accusation and pleased she thought him sneaky enough to have multiple motives already.

"She's not wrong," Tracey said, looking at Draco pointedly. "You haven't exactly been welcoming, or been nice to her at all since the beginning of the year."

Draco hesitated, before turning to look at Hermione.

"I would never put you in a position like this just to see you humiliated," he told her quietly. "Realize – though I may not have spoken to you before, neither did I insult you, nor did I degrade you. We all have roles to play, and…" He trailed off, looking uneasy. "…well, at least we're able to speak now."

 _Able_ to speak to her? That struck Hermione as odd. It sounded almost as though Draco had _wanted_ to talk to her, but couldn't. Maybe Draco's father told him not to talk to her because of his blood prejudice? That certainly wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, knowing what little she did of the Malfoys.

"Tears and humiliation can be a powerful weapon – pity and rage at injustice are powerful tools," Draco told her. He bit his lip. "It won't happen for a while – we need to set the stage, and you need to regain his friendship, or at least seem to. It'll all work out, Granger."

Hermione gave him a small half-smile.

"I know," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I won't get my feelings hurt in the process."

"If he makes you cry genuine tears, I will make him rue the day he was born and bring ruin to his family," Draco said, his voice dark.

"Why, Draco," Hermione said, with an odd sort of half-laugh escaping her mouth. "You almost make it sound as though you care."

Draco jerked awkwardly at that, moving towards her but stopping short. He looked like he wanted to do something – or say something, at least – but he held himself back.

"The plan will start in the morning," he told her, snagging a few tarts and nodding to her as he left. He shot her a smirk. "You might enjoy it – watching Weasley lose loads and loads of points will be fun."

Hermione smiled to herself and shook her head in amusement, before abruptly realizing Tracey had left at some point in the conversation. Shrugging to herself, she left the common room, hurrying to grab her explorer's kit and get to her dormitory before curfew.


	25. Taking the Bait

The next morning, Hermione awoke to find herself cornered by her dormmates very, very early.

"So, Hermione, we were thinking…" said Daphne, twirling a bit of her hair.

"…as your fellow Slytherins and co-conspirators…" Millie added.

"…that you should really…" Tracey said, nodding.

"…tell us _what_ the blazes you've been doing to make yourself look so good!" Pansy finished, eyes sharp.

The other three shot her a dark look, while Pansy looked defiant.

" _Please_ , Hermione?" Tracey pleaded. "I _know_ there's a secret to what you've been doing, and we're all getting along so _well_ now…"

"We would all very much appreciate it," Daphne said. "I know I, for one, would like to be able to show up my cousins at Christmas this year."

Hermione looked at them, feeling a sly ribbon of pleasure curl inside her.

They'd taken the bait.

"…All right," Hermione said, being sure to hesitate. She bit her lip. "But it has to remain a secret, okay? I don't want it getting out – the last thing we need is everybody stealing our advantage, okay?"

The other girls nodded their heads rapidly, eyes wide. Hermione bit back a grin.

"Okay. Let's sit in the middle."

Tracey went to block the door with Pansy's nightstand as Millie and Daphne dragged a round table from the far side of the bedroom into the middle with its chairs. Hermione fished through her trunk for her makeup kit. Hermione took her time; she wasn't dim enough to think now that they were all united against Ron together, they were all going to be the best of friends. She knew Pansy still loathed her if nothing else… but it suited her purposes, to let them all think she'd accepted them as her friends, so she would be willing to tell them her secret. Finally finding her kit, she turned back to them, closing her trunk.

The five of them settled around the table, all of them looking to Hermione, who put her kit on the table.

"This," she told them gravely, "is a makeup kit."

She could see them tasting the word in their own mouths.

"It's called that because it 'makes up' for any imperfections you have," she said, opening the kit. "There are small potions and powders in here that help enhance your looks, and some others to change how you look entirely. It depends how you use them – it's almost an art."

Daphne was looking at a compact, jerking slightly in surprise to find herself in a mirror inside of it. Pansy was eyeing a glittery eyeshadow with avarice.

"The trick with makeup is it has to match your own coloring," Hermione told them.

"Like with robes?" Tracey asked.

"Exactly," Hermione said, nodding. "We all have different skin colors, eye colors, and hair colors. You have to pick the right colors to flatter you, otherwise the makeup will make you look weird."

"How does all this work?" Daphne asked, touching a mascara brush with distrust. She glanced up at Hermione. "Can you show us?"

Shrugging, Hermione nodded. "Why not?"

It was an odd experience, Hermione noted, to put on makeup and carefully explain what each step was and what it did. The girls (Pansy especially) were excited by the concealer that Hermione put on a couple spots she had to make them disappear. The foundation powder evoked a murmur of awe, and the eyeshadows and mascara an odd fascination.

"Have you ever stuck the brush in your eye?" Tracey asked.

Hermione laughed. "Maybe once? You just need to be very careful."

Afterward, she showed them her curling iron. Palming the end of the retractable cord, Hermione heated it up with a charm, and curled her hair as best she could. It was a challenge, as she hadn't slept in wet braids to prepare her hair for it this time. She managed somewhat more defined waves, and the frizziness was down, which Hermione counted as at least a partial win. She glanced in the mirror and sighed, before gesturing to Daphne.

"Come here," Hermione said, shifting her own chair over. "I'll show you. Your hair's straight – it'll work better on yours."

Daphne's eyes were wide, but she obligingly moved her chair over and sat next to Hermione, sitting very, very still.

"You can choose how big or small you want the curls to be, and how tight or loose, also," Hermione told them, winding Daphne's hair into the iron and hitting it with another heating charm. "I'll do Daphne's differently than mine – the best I can usually manage is loose waves or curls, but Daphne's hair will take to the curling iron much better. Watch."

There was a murmur as a large, fat corkscrew curl emerged from the iron. Hermione pinned it up quickly to cool and started on the next.

By the end, Daphne had a head of large, fat ringlets. Hermione let the cooled curls down and sprayed them lightly with hairspray to help them keep, before offering Daphne the mirror. Taking a deep breath, Daphne steeled herself and looked into the mirror, only to gasp.

"Is that… me?" she said, tilting her head from side to side. "It's so _pretty!_ "

Daphne turned to Hermione, her eyes alight with amazement and gratitude, and Hermione smiled.

"Did you really think I'd try and mess up your hair?" she teased. Daphne flushed but continued to primp in the mirror, pleased.

Hermione looked out at the table. The other girls looked at Daphne with happiness, and some envy. Pansy's envy was palpable – Pansy's own hair was notoriously limp.

"So, Hermione," Millie said, picking up a compact. "How did you get all of this? How can _we_ get all this, too?"

"Yes," Pansy said quickly. "You said that everyone's coloring is different – how can we get this secret makeup too, but in our own colors?"

Hermione looked at them all seriously. This was the test – convincing them that it was rare and top secret. Hermione gave them all an evaluating look before going back under her bed and bringing out a glossy catalog that she'd carefully edited.

"I have a contact who knows someone who knows who to get it from secretly in America," she told them. "If you want, I can let them know to get some for you, too, but it's not cheap – nothing this good ever is."

She'd picked America because the MACUSA was well-known for having dangerously lax standards with potion and product testing, and she'd needed somewhere that spoke English to claim as a point of origin, unless she wanted to peel off every single label. Luckily, none of the girls seemed to think twice on her claim.

"What is this?" Pansy demanded, flipping through the catalog. "The pictures don't move!"

"That's because each photo is of a specific thing and the models do their best _not_ to move," Hermione snapped back. "If you're trying to just see how someone's eyeshadow looks up close, it's not going to help you if they're moving and blinking all over the place, is it?"

"…I guess not." Pansy settled back into her chair, cowed.

"I've marked the prices in this one by hand," Hermione said. "You'll notice that they call different colors or different shades by code. You write down the codes you want and your own order code, and you send the money secretly another way. That way, if the codes get intercepted, no one knows what they're for or what they mean."

The other girls nodded, murmuring over the secrecy measures. There was a bit of jostling as all of them poured over the catalog.

"This is expensive," Tracey murmured, looking.

"But look at how beautiful she looks!" Daphne said, pointing to a mascara model. "She's so pretty!"

"Mascara, the eyelash stuff, is generally always black," Hermione said. "I have an extra one, that you all could share, if you want."

Daphne and Pansy whipped around to look at her.

"Really?" Daphne asked, eyes wide.

Hermione shrugged. "Sure," she said. "I'll either buy another one with your things, or one of you can replace mine for me."

"I'll cover it," Daphne said quickly.

"Then it's just a matter of none of you having pink eye, and you'll be fine," Hermione said, digging the extra out of her kit. "It'll be good for you to get practice with it – starting out, it's hard to not make the potion clump, which always looks bad."

Daphne quickly claimed the mascara from Hermione, holding it tightly. The other girls poured over the catalog, murmuring quietly. Hermione glanced at the clock – it was nearly time for breakfast.

"Let's do this," Hermione suggested. "I'll leave this with you. _Don't_ let anyone see it. But you can pass it around, and later tonight, we'll write all the codes down on parchment that you want and make a pool of galleons to send. Depending how quickly we can send this off, we can try and get your makeup a few weeks before Christmas."

The other girls murmured their agreement, and Pansy quickly stashed the catalog as they all started getting ready for the day. Hermione helped Daphne with the mascara wand for the first time in the mirror, teaching her how to open her eyes and look up. After a couple misses, Daphne's eyes were coated in black, and Hermione wiped off the smudges next to her eyes with a damp cloth.

"There," she said, smiling. "Look how much longer your eyelashes look."

Daphne stared at herself in the mirror, fluttering her eyelashes, and then looking back at herself in astonishment over and over again. Hermione smirked and went to get ready.


	26. The Groundskeeper

Breakfast was amusing. Hermione still got the appreciative looks she usually garnered whenever she put makeup on, but her classmates' reaction to Daphne's gorgeous corkscrew curls was much more dramatic.

"Merlin, Greengrass!" One of the older girls, Flora Carrow, came over, looking on in envy. "What'd you do to your hair?"

"Do you like it?" Daphne said, turning her head back and forth to watch the curls bounce.

"It's stunning," Hestia Carrow, twin to Flora, admitted. "How'd you do it? I can never get my hair to look that perfect, even if I sleep in rags."

"Oh, Hermione and I were just playing around this morning," Daphne said dismissively. She smiled at Hermione, who shared her secret smile. "I thought it came out rather well."

The Carrow sisters slowly returned to their place with the other third years, looking on jealously, and Daphne smirked further. Pansy was looking on in pride and slight envy, and Tracey just looked amused.

The boys from their own year looked suspicious.

"What're you playing at?" Theo asked Daphne. "What'd you do with your hair?"

"Curled it," Daphne said promptly.

"Don't give me that," Theo retorted. "I've seen you and Pansy with your hair curled before. It's never looked like that."

"Hermione taught us a new way," Daphne shot back, with a winning smile. "She knows a way that uses magic. It looks quite different, yes?"

Daphne bounced her curls again, and Hermione fought the urge to laugh.

"…yes," Theo admitted, begrudgingly. "…you look nice, Daphne."

Daphne beamed, before eating her porridge in the smuggest manner imaginable for one to eat porridge. Hermione bit back her laughter before finishing a piece of toast and standing.

"You're done already?" Tracey asked.

"No, but I've other plans," Hermione said, gesturing across the hall. "Public reconciliation, right?"

The others looked at her with grave faces, nodding at her with respect.

"Good luck, Granger," Draco told her formally, and Hermione nodded back, straightening her shoulders and heading over.

Harry, Neville, and Ron had been at breakfast maybe five minutes so far – Hermione had been watching. So far, they'd seemed to have woken up a bit, but not yet gotten too far into their breakfast. Hermione headed over, slowing her pace to seem tentative as she approached. Instead, it ensured that everyone had plenty of time to notice her walking over, making sure all the first-years' eyes were on her, and a fair few from the Head table.

Ron was the last to notice, as he slurped down an orange. Harry elbowed him sharply, nodding towards Hermione, and Ron's eyes widened as she approached. Hermione climbed onto the bench next to Neville, across from Harry and Ron, nodding demurely, before looking at Ron, her eyes wide.

"Hi Ron." Her voice was a whisper.

Ron nodded heavily, still staring at her.

"I thought… I was hoping…" Her voice was tentative, faltering, and she looked down, pausing to take a deep breath, before looking back up. "I was hoping we could be friends again," she finished.

Ron looked surprised and stunned.

"I'm sorry for messing with your potion in Potions class," Hermione hurried on, earnestly. "I didn't mean to make you angry. I'd thought I would be able to help you, and I didn't mean to be so bossy or mean about it, and I'm so sorry I did. Please, Ron – I won't do it again." She bit her lip, plaintive. "Please. Can't we be friends again?"

Ron was still staring at her, stunned. Harry elbowed him sharply, giving him an angry look, and hastily, Ron nodded.

"Yeah," he said finally, still nodding. "Yeah, we're good, Hermione. And – I'm sorry for hurting your feelings when I said all those things about you."

He wasn't sorry for _saying_ them, Hermione noted to herself, just for her getting her feelings hurt over them. Tucking away that piece of knowledge, Hermione gave Ron a brilliant smile, settled down onto the bench next to Neville, and helped herself to a half a grapefruit.

"Anyone know what was up with Harry's broomstick yesterday?" she asked them. "Who'd want to kill you, Harry? You've only been at school a few months."

Immediately, conversation turned to the boys' various conspiracy theories about who wanted to bring Harry down. Hermione noticed that most of the boys' theories involved either Snape or Malfoy, and Hermione ended up playing the devil's advocate, knocking each one down.

"If Professor Snape wanted you dead, Harry, you'd be dead," she told him honestly. "He's powerful and scary. He'd slip you a poison in class or at dinner, and you'd go to bed feeling fine, and just never wake up. Or he'd give you something that would mimic the effects of an actual disease, and when you died from it, everyone would presume you'd just had an awful case of Dragon Pox. The last thing he'd do would be something so obvious as jinx your broom in public in front of the entire school."

The boys reluctantly agreed to this. Snape was scary, no matter what, and they were able to recognize that anyone Snape wanted dead would, in fact, end up dead.

"Malfoy might hate you, but he's not exactly strong enough to jinx your broom, either," Hermione said. "He only knows as much magic as you. We haven't learned anything as strong as a jinx to do anything like what we saw."

Their grudging agreement soon turned into crazed theories about Death Eaters infiltrating the school as students to bring down Harry, and Hermione couldn't bring herself to stop them – it was too funny, too interesting to hear them go off on wild tangents like this. It was after Ron suggested that five of them could have burrowed into the school grounds through abandoned gnome tunnels that Hermione had an idea.

"You know who we could check with, who might be able to help us out?" Hermione said, brightly.

The other three looked at her in confusion, shaking their heads.

"Hagrid," she suggested. "The groundskeeper."

* * *

Hagrid was a massive man that Hermione suspected was not entirely human. He'd also been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, was older than he looked, and, Hermione suspected, not all there. He _was_ , however, friends with Harry, and Ron and Neville through Harry, so the three of them going down to visit Hagrid wasn't unusual for them at all. Hermione felt quite pleased with herself for finagling an invite as well as they all headed down.

Hagrid was pleased to see them, and even happier to see that the boys had brought her along.

"You brought a girl!" he exclaimed, looking on them proudly. "'ermione, is it?"

They were all shuffled inside and given tea and biscuits. Harry's wide eyes and slightly-shaking head warned Hermione against trying the latter, and Hermione managed a smile as she sipped at the weak tea.

Ron launched into a tale of what had happened to Harry and their theories, and Hermione entertained herself by looking around Hagrid's cabin and out the window. Hagrid had a large garden of sorts outside his house, and animal pens as well, though Hermione couldn't quite see all of them from her seat. The Forbidden Forest was eerily close to his hut, and Hermione wondered how often he ever ventured in.

"Ron, no one can burrow into Hogwarts!" Hagrid was laughing heartily now, slapping his knee. "You can't get past the wards on the grounds!"

Ron's face was red and he looked very annoyed, while Neville looked relieved. Harry looked thoughtful.

"That means it was someone on the grounds, then," Harry remarked, looking at the ceiling. "But who…?"

"I reckon you won't have to worry about it anymore, Harry," Hagrid said, ruffling his hair. "Professor Dumbledore will have heard about the jinxing, and he'll come to the next game. That'll make sure that nothing fishy goes on."

They made small talk about classes for a little longer, which was mostly Ron whining about Potions and Neville gushing about Herbology. Hermione let them go on a little, before giving Harry a pointed look.

"It's been great to see you, Hagrid," Harry said, standing and giving the man a hug. "We'd better get back up to the castle, though. We've all got that Potions essay to finish, still."

Hagrid smiled at Harry, and hugged each of them in turn, including Hermione. Hermione was surprised to be hugged, but slowly hugged him back. It was nice to be hugged – there wasn't much physical affection to be had in the Slytherin dungeons.

As they left, filing up towards Hogwarts, Hermione made sure she was last and lagged behind.

"It just occurred to me," Hermione lied, looking up at Hagrid, "that you might have some rope. I need some for an extra credit project. Do you have any extra rope lying around here?"

Hagrid grinned at her. "'Course I do, 'Mione. How much you need?" He walked around the back of his hut, Hermione carefully following.

"How much do you have?" she asked. "I'm not really sure how much I'll need."

"Here."

Abruptly, there was a massive coil of rope in her arms, and Hermione staggered under the weight.

"Oh! Sorry, there."

A moment later, there was a whizzing noise, and the rope retracted into itself, until all that was left was an embroidered sleeve the length of her arm.

"Retractable rope, that is," Hagrid said, nodding. "It's meant as a lead for a magical creature. Strongest rope there is. I'm not sure how much rope goes into it, but it's a whole lot."

Hermione stared. A _lead?_ A rope this thick?

"I can borrow this?" Hermione said, clutching the magic rope sleeve. "Are you sure? I might need it for a few months, Hagrid…"

"Nah, it's fine," Hagrid said, waving her off. "Not using it anymore, am I? Only need the one for Fang, here."

He nudged the lazy dog at his foot, who raised his head, looked at Hagrid with wide, soulful eyes, before putting his head back down on his paws. Hagrid sighed.

"Lazy git…"

Hermione looked at the thickness of the rope in her hand, thoughtful, before looking back up at Hagrid.

"You had another dog, Hagrid?"

Hagrid's face brightened. "Yeah," he said. "Called 'im Fluffy. Great dog – good dog – 'e was as loyal as they come. 'E preferred the forest, really, but 'e was great at playing fetch and helpin' scare anythin' off in the forest when I had to go inside… I'd play him a bit o' music to help him go to sleep at night, and he was just the sweetest thing…"

Hermione's suspicions grew.

"I'm so sorry you don't have him anymore, Hagrid," she told him, looking up at him with sad eyes. "Did something happen to him?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah. I let a friend borrow him for a while… needed him, to protect summat. Fluffy's a great protector."

"Protect something?" Hermione said, keeping her voice carefully innocent. "Would just Fluffy be enough?"

"Nah, 'e got all the others to help protect it too, e'eryone in the castle helped out…" Hagrid stopped short, seeming to realize what he was saying, and gave Hermione a suspicious look, but Hermione smiled at him innocently, as if she hadn't realized he'd said anything.

"That's good, then, right, Hagrid?" she said. "Then you'll get to get Fluffy back once your friend doesn't need whatever the thing is to be protected anymore."

Hagrid brightened at that.

"Yeah," he said. "Should only take a year… that'll be good, then… I miss him…"

Hagrid suddenly looked like he might cry, missing his dog, and Hermione took the chance to thank him again for the rope and escape, hurrying up the hill to the castle.

"Hagrid is only person on _earth,_ " she muttered to herself, clutching her magic rope, "the _only_ person, who would _ever_ name a three-headed dog _Fluffy._ "


	27. The Hospital Wing

Draco had been right – it was fun to watch Ron lose his temper over the Slytherins' antics in the corridors.

It seemed almost as if the Slytherin boys had timed it and practiced. Draco started with jeering at Ron in front of the Potions classroom immediately before Potions class, about two minutes before the door would open. Hermione could see Theo counting down the time on a small watch, and Theo would give Draco a nod about 15 seconds before it would strike three o'clock exactly. Draco would finish his insult and sneer at Ron, who would immediately start yelling back and try to lunge at Draco, only to have Harry and Neville hold him back.

Inevitably, this would be the time Snape would throw open the door to the classroom, only to see Ron lunging at the Slytherins and yelling foul things. Delightedly, Snape would deduct points from Gryffindor for Ron's behavior, frequently from Harry and Neville as well, and threaten detention if Ron continued his caterwauling.

After several days, they got him outside of Transfiguration.

Theo had hung back to talk to Professor McGonagall after class, and the Slytherins had lingered around in the hall as classes dismissed. It happened that the Gryffindor first years got out of Charms at the same time, and when they'd 'run' into Ron complaining that he'd never get the hang of the Levitation Charm, Draco had been only too pleased to point out to Ron that he'd probably been born a Squib, if he couldn't master such easy magic, and it might save his family a lot of money if he'd just admit his disgrace and go home. Ron sputtered something indignantly about Draco's family, and Draco sweetly retorted with something about Ron's family living in a shack, his father being a Muggle-loving freak, and when Draco saw Theo appear, ended with implying that Ron's mother was a gnome.

The ensuing fight was as brutal as it was brief. With a yell, Ron had hurled himself onto Draco and began pummeling his face. Draco was screaming as Ron was yelling, beating his head into the stone ground, and Hermione's eyes were wide with horror.

"Mister Weasley!"

Professor McGonagall appeared around the corner, her eyes wide and her lips tight, and she roughly pulled Ron off Draco, who was covered in blood and whimpering.

"He started it!" Ron was quick to accuse. Harry and Neville were quick to back him up, only to silence when McGonagall cut them down with a curt look.

"Regardless of what childish insults were exchanged," she said tightly, "you, Mister Weasley, are in perfect health, while Mister Malfoy lies on the floor, his nose broken, bleeding heavily."

Greg and Vincent were helping Draco to his feet. Draco was stumbling, his eyes unfocused, and he seemed dizzy. Hermione was horrified and felt sick with worry. Surely this wasn't in the plan?

"Mister Goyle, Mister Crabbe, please help Mister Malfoy to the hospital wing," Professor McGonagall dismissed them. "Mister Weasley – 20 points from Gryffindor, and detention with me the rest of the week. The rest of you – get up to lunch."

The corridor became a scramble of activity as Ron wailed his objections to McGonagall, who remained firm. Hermione hurried after Malfoy, quickly catching up and helping him get to the Hospital Wing unscathed – Vincent and Greg weren't the best at working together navigating him around corners. They nearly dropped Draco a few times.

When they entered the Hospital Wing, blood covering Draco's front, Madam Pomfrey shrieked and hurried them over to a bed.

"What happened?" she demanded, peering into Draco's face, casting a light from her wand to look into his eyes.

"Yes, Miss Granger," a drawling voice came from behind her. "What happened?"

Hermione whirled around to see Professor Snape, standing in the shadows of the Hospital Wing. There was a box of potions nearby, and one of the cupboard doors was open. As she watched, he closed the cupboard and moved towards them, leaving the box behind. His eyes were glittering.

"Ron Weasley went ballistic on Draco after Transfiguration," she said steadily. "Ron was whining in the hallway about not being able to do the Levitation Charm yet, and Draco made a suggestion about why that might be. Ron seemed to take it personally and started insulting Draco's family, and when Draco defended them and shot back about Ron's own family, Ron jumped on Draco and started pummeling his face."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes went wide, while Snape's gleamed.

"And Mister Weasley had the self-restraint to stop, once he realized he'd broken Mister Malfoy's nose?"

"No – Professor McGonagall came around the corner moments later, and had to drag him off Draco," Hermione told them. "She took 20 points and gave him detention for the rest of the week."

"Detention for two days?" Snape stood, his robes draping down over his legs once again. He sneered. "An appropriate punishment for assaulting a classmate? I shall have to speak to her. I would see him expelled, for such brutality, or at least write the parents of those involved…"

Hermione shivered. To tell Draco's father about what had happened could very well end up in Ron being dead. From what she understood of Draco's family, Lucius Malfoy did not take threats to his family lightly.

"Ah, and Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked back up at Snape, who was in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

His eyes glittered.

"Twenty points to Slytherin for helping your classmate in a time of need, keeping your head cool in a crisis, and an eidetic memory at recounting events," he told her. "Ten to each of you, Crabbe, Goyle, for helping Mister Malfoy to the Hospital Wing."

Greg and Vincent looked surprised. Hermione wondered if they'd ever earned points before.

Madam Pomfrey tutted as Snape left, and Hermione hurried back over to Draco's bed.

"Shoo, you," she said, gesturing to them. "You got him here – go get your lunch, now. I'll handle this."

Greg and Vincent left easily enough at the mention of food, but Hermione lingered.

"I'd really like to watch, if that's okay," Hermione told the nurse. "I'm curious about healing charms and spells, and I'm curious to see how you'll treat the concussion."

Madam Pomfrey glanced over at her, a small mote of respect in her eye.

"How do you know he's concussed?"

"It's a guess," Hermione admitted, "but his eyes are unfocused, he seems dizzy, and his head was slammed repeatedly into a stone floor. It seems logical."

Madam Pomfrey eyed her a moment later, before shrugging.

"This, girl, is how you first stop the bleeding…"

Hermione watched on as Madam Pomfrey explained how to stop bleeding, how detect internal hemorrhaging and stop _that_ , and how to reset a broken nose. She explained the diagnostic spell she cast and what some of the parts of it meant, and when she'd finished with Draco, Hermione could see that several red parts were now a cautious green. She gave him a couple potions (one to put him to sleep to help him recover, and one to replace the blood he'd lost), before sitting back.

"I'll keep him here overnight as a precaution," she told Hermione. "The concussion's been treated, but better safe than sorry."

"You're going to wake him up in the middle of the night and ask him questions?" Hermione asked.

Madam Pomfrey's lips twitched. "I'll run a diagnostic on him during the night and give him another blood replenishing potion. I doubt I'll need to do a check like that."

Hermione glanced over at Draco. He looked awfully pale and uneasy, even in his sleep.

"I'd like to stay here a while," Hermione told the nurse. "Just until he wakes up."

"You'll miss lunch," the nurse warned her. "You might miss your next class, too."

"It's just Defense," Hermione dismissed. "I'll stay here."

"Suit yourself," the nurse shrugged, but ten minutes later, she came out of her office with a sandwich and glass of juice for Hermione, and she and Hermione exchanged a smile.

* * *

When Draco woke up, he did so slowly, with a cautious fluttering of eyelids and a groggy countenance. Hermione was sitting next to him, munching on something and reading a book on healing charms. When she noticed him looking at her, she offered him a small smile.

"It's about seven o'clock," she told him. "You missed Defense. Dinner's still going on, but they brought something for you in case you woke up."

She nodded toward a tray on the nightstand. Draco kept looking at her, and Hermione bit her lip, fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze.

"Granger," he said finally. His voice sounded deeper, rougher, scratchy from his sleep. "Why are you here?"

Hermione frowned.

"Ron pummeled you and broke your nose," she told him. "Do you remember?"

"I know Weasley hit me," Draco said. "But why are _you_ here?"

"You were hurt," Hermione told him, slightly incredulous. "I wasn't just going to _leave_ you."

Draco stared at her as if she was an alien.

"Why not?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"No one should have to wake up in a hospital alone," she said finally. "At least, not the first time, when you don't know what's going on at all."

"So you stayed?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged. "So I stayed."

Slowly, Draco cracked a small smile.

"Better your face than Crabbe's ugly mug," he said, shifting to take his dinner tray. "Can you imagine the shock of waking up to _that?_ "

Hermione laughed, and then he asked her about Transfiguration that day, and abruptly, they were _talking._ Hermione couldn't believe he was talking to her at all, let alone in a friendly fashion. But it was nice to be able to actually converse with him – Draco was _smart,_ and he was fun to talk with. They had a happy argument over who had done a better job that day of turning a pinecone into a peach (it wasn't really a contest – Draco's had still had the texture of pinecone scales), before he asked her about the book in her lap.

"Healing charms? Those are fairly advanced," he commented. "Why're you reading about those?"

"They're not that hard. Some of them are pretty simple, at least," Hermione said. "And I figured – well, if you're going to keep picking fights with Weasley, we might need a healer in Slytherin sooner rather than later."

Draco stared at her, and Hermione squirmed.

"They're not that hard, really," she said. "Watch."

She took a scalpel from the nightstand that she'd snitched from Madam Pomfrey's workstation earlier and drew it across her forearm, blood immediately welling up. Draco made a choking noise and an aborted gesture, as if he'd been going to stop her but she'd been too quick. Hermione looked up at him quizzically. He was watching her now – a bit green, but he was watching. Hermione pointed her wand at the wound, hovering just above the cut.

 _"Episkey_ ," she murmured, and the cut neatly began to stitch itself back together, the skin repairing itself flawlessly under her wand.

Draco's eyes widened. Hermione grinned.

"See?" she told him. "This one can even set broken noses, and _Tergeo_ will get spilled blood off things, so as long as you don't get concussed again, we'll be able to escape more unnoticed, if need be."

Draco watched her for a long moment more.

"I see."

The conversation turned back to classes, with both of them complaining about History of Magic, then about Quirrell in turn. Madam Pomfrey appeared after they'd finished dinner to shoo Hermione back to her common room before curfew, and Hermione left rolling her eyes but with a grin, giving Draco a wave as she was chased out. She was pleased to see him smirking but giving her a wave back, and she was smiling to herself as she went back down the stairs.

She kept reading the book she'd borrowed from Madam Pomfrey the rest of the night, before retiring to bed a bit early, drawing the curtains around her.

Hermione bit her lip, considering. She'd been levitating her nightstand for a while, now, to drain her magic, and it was getting to be obnoxious, clearing it off every night so nothing would fall off as she lifted it up.

With a considering look, Hermione folded her legs on her bed and aimed at herself with a careful swish and flick.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

The spell most spectacularly did _not_ work, as Hermione lifted into the air for a moment before toppling over and off of her bed as it failed. Grimacing, Hermione pulled herself back onto her bed and considered carefully.

She'd managed to cast this on herself once before, but only enough to help get her out of the cave she was in. She hadn't actually managed to _levitate_ with it. Now that she thought about it, _Quidditch Through the Ages_ had said that wizards still hadn't managed to do unaided flight. She wondered how Snape had managed it, then – it was probably a secret. He _had_ asked her not to tell.

Considering carefully, Hermione took aim once again, but this time, carefully taking aim at her pajama bottoms, and _only_ thinking of her pajama bottoms in her mind.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

She managed it, but only just – she nearly toppled over herself, and her near-topple sent her wand moving widely, sending her further off balance. By tensing her entire torso and hunching over, Hermione managed to stay upright and keep the spell going for ten seconds or so, before she collapsed onto her bed, breathing hard.

"Not that, then," she muttered to herself, flipping over onto her stomach. She took aim at her trunk, flicked her wand and muttered, and levitated it for a few minutes until she couldn't any further, and it dropped, thudding to the floor.

Hermione went to bed feeling almost as if she'd torn an internal muscle. Trying to levitate herself had felt somehow _wrong_. She made a mental note to ask Snape how he'd done it – if she could learn, she wouldn't need the rope to get back up the next time she took a crack at the third-floor corridor.


	28. Exploring the Corridor - again

Hermione took her next try at the trapdoor during the next Quidditch match. It was Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, and the entire school had poured out into the stadium to watch. Hermione had lingered behind in the Astronomy tower, watching them leave.

Carefully making sure the coast was clear, Hermione activated her music wand once again, cast a quiet _Alohomora_ , and crept into the forbidden corridor.

Once again, the giant dog seemed to immediately grow sleepy while listening to the music, its six ears drooping as it fell against a wall and slid down into an enormous puddle of snoring Cerberus. Hermione had to shove one of the back legs off the trapdoor to open it this time, revealing once more the deep blackness that it contained.

Carefully affixing the enchanted leash she'd gotten from Hagrid to her grappling hook, Hermione very carefully prepared herself, tying it to a normal rope harness she'd rigged up around her middle. Unable to prolong it much longer, Hermione cast _Lumos,_ and let herself fall.

The leash seemed to limit how fast the rope came out, for which Hermione was infinitely grateful, though she was still being careful, her hands skimming the rope and ready to halt it as soon as need be. The rope lowered her down and down and down and down, far past where Hermione had managed to reach before.

Finally, something came into view, and Hermione quickly stopped the leash from extending any further, before slowly lowering herself down little by little to examine what she saw.

It was a plant.

The floor seemed to be made of some kind of plant.

Hermione craned her neck further, before realizing she recognized it: it was Devil's Snare. There was some in the greenhouses, and they'd worked near it in Herbology class. Though it had an ominous name and would readily choke the life out of someone, she remembered that it was easily defeated by fire – something even a first year could create.

Now, more than ever, Hermione became sure that this was some sort of magical test.

She hesitated, looking up at her rope, and then looking down at the plant, before aiming her wand down.

 _"Incendio."_

Fire leapt from her wand to the plants, which immediately curled away from the fire. Those caught in the flames writhed and withered into burnt husks, and Hermione carefully created a patch of burnt plants large enough for her to drop through.

There had to be another way out, Hermione hoped. If there was this plant floor, there had to be another door. A rope dropped through Devil's Snare would be destroyed, after the plants rebuilt themselves to fill in the damage done.

Biting her lip and clenching her eyes shut, Hermione let go of the rope.

There was only a moment of burnt plants hitting her face before she landed on a stone floor, and she toppled over, caught off-balance. When she stood, the Devil's snare was about 8 feet above her, spread across the area in a green canopy.

Hermione looked around. She seemed to be deep beneath the school now, in unused classrooms or dungeons from long, long ago. She was relieved to see two doors – one that was quiet and unassuming, and looked for the life of her like any other classroom door she might find, and one that glowed with a golden light, that had the sound of wings behind it.

Hermione headed towards the light and opened the door.

Dozens and dozens of tiny jeweled birds flew around lazily, with multicolored wings. It took Hermione a long moment to realize that they weren't birds – they were _keys._ And all of them were floating around on charmed wings. She noticed a few brooms leaning up against a far wall, and Hermione's heart sank.

Though she was certain it wouldn't work, Hermione tried the door on the other side of the room anyway. It was locked, and _Alohomora_ did nothing to help.

Hermione examined the situation more carefully. The door was sturdy, with an old-fashioned silver handle on it and a hole for a key beneath the handle. There were nearly a hundred keys flying around, and she was clearly meant to catch one and use it to open the lock. But Hermione was well aware of her flying ability – without having a butterfly net to trap and catch all of the keys and try them one by one, there was no way she'd be able to catch keys with her bare hands.

Taking a deep breath to focus, Hermione considered her options.

First: she could try to catch the keys. She almost immediately dismissed this idea as silly – she'd never manage anything skillful on a broom.

Second: she could ignore the keys and try to destroy the door. It was wooden, and it might respond to _Incendio._ Hermione dismissed this idea too – if the lock was spelled to resist _Alohomora,_ it was likely that the entire door was spelled to resist magic.

Third: she could try to catch the keys in an unorthodox way – summoning them, perhaps. If she could summon them to her, it'd be much easier, and she could shove the wrong ones into her bag until she found the right one, and then let them loose.

Hermione gnawed her lip uneasily. Though she'd read about the summoning charm, she hadn't yet managed it. It was a much higher-level spell than she knew how to cast right now, and to be honest, she didn't think her magical core was big enough to succeed at it yet.

This was clearly the charms test, Hermione thought. The summoning charm was a charm, so that might be the answer the tester was looking for. That seemed unfair, though, when everything else was something even a first year could manage. But maybe that was the reason for the brooms – everyone received flying lessons as a first year, after all.

Looking at the door, a fourth idea slowly formed in her mind.

Fourth: she could try to pick the lock on the door.

The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to have merit. Hermione turned the logic over in her mind, examining the idea.

1\. The door and lock were enchanted to resist spells.

2\. Because the door was enchanted to resist spells, the key would need to _physically open_ the door. Meaning, the key wouldn't just be a magical trigger – the act of _turning the key_ would open the door.

3\. If the door's lock needed to be _physically opened_ , a lock pick would work just as well, as it would _physically unlock_ the door.

The only thing was the door might be protected against lock picks somehow, with some kind of shield spell or ward. Hermione bit her lip. She doubted that would be the case – lock picks were such a _Muggle_ thing, after all, and any such spell would probably prevented a key from working too. But it was still possible.

Well… it was worth a try?

Digging in her explorer's kit, Hermione withdrew the set of lock picks her father had sent her.

The kit came with five different little tools, and a small paper describing what each one did. The back of the paper had incredibly poor drawings of how to pick a lock, and Hermione found herself disregarding it and relying on what she'd read in a crime novel once as a child – pushing the wrench slightly to the side to put tension on the lock, and carefully using the little squiggly bit to feel for and push the pins up one by one.

It was frustrating, as she was guessing what she was doing. The door and the lock were old, and the pins were big and heavy. But when Hermione felt the first pin click, there was a rush of success, and the next pin came faster, and then the next, and then the next.

By the time the final pin clicked into place, Hermione was grinning proudly. She'd managed to use Muggle technology to get around a magical puzzle, and she was feeling quite smug, if she did say so herself. The doorknob yielded as she tried it once more, and she strolled through to see what was next.

Her eyes widened at the giant chessboard, and her face fell.

Hermione _hated_ chess.

Chess was something that super-villains played dramatically in movies, or what heroes and generals used as a painfully obvious visual metaphor. In the real world, chess was a frustrating game that Hermione _despised_.

At a young age, Hermione had wanted to be good at chess. It was a skill that seemed to be a prerequisite to being a smart person – all intelligent people enjoyed playing chess and playing it well. Hermione's parents had taught her the rules, and she'd been entered in a Youth Chess League, where once a week, children would play chess against one another for points.

It was the one thing she'd failed at – badly. She had lost nearly every game.

Humiliated, Hermione had read the strategy books. She learned different moves, different ways of getting checkmate, different tricks and traps. She even went to a chess training camp for a week one summer, trying to learn, trying to get better.

It was to no avail. The week she lost to a boy three years her junior, she had quit chess, and she never looked back.

Hermione's mind just didn't _work_ for chess. She could see strategies and ideas, but she would focus on _one_ , and then scramble to regroup when her opponent ruined that one. She wasn't able to hold onto many different possibilities at once while still holding onto strict rules. Hermione did best when carrying out a set plan, and then thinking on the fly and thinking out of the box when any disruptions occurred. You couldn't _do_ that in chess – there were very firm rules about what could and could not be done – and as a result, Hermione was a very poor player indeed.

Hermione walked around the chessboard grimly. The enormous white pieces moved to block her path as she tried to get past them, and it became clear that she was expected to become one of the black pieces and play.

Was she supposed to play and win? Or just play her way across the board? Hermione was moderately sure she could manage the latter, but if it were the former? She was in trouble.

With a scowl, Hermione cast a last glance back, memorizing the layout of the room, before slamming the door behind her, storming back through the key room, slamming that door, and investigating the dark, unassuming door on the other side of the Devil's Snare area.

It was unlocked. Still frustrated, Hermione pulled it open and stepped through.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis, and Hermione screamed as she fell through what felt like dimensions of spinning doors, before she landed with a _splat_ right outside the forbidden corridor, as if the ceiling itself had spit her out.

With a groan, she stood, rubbed her back, and reluctantly went back into the forbidden corridor to gather up her things. She couldn't just leave her music wand or leash there for anyone else to find. Besides, she'd need them again once she figured out how to get past the stupid chess death trap – and she _would_ figure out a way, she swore.

One way or another, she'd make it past that board.


	29. An Unexpected Discovery

**Author's Note: This chapter addresses the sexuality of preteens. There is nothing explicit, and it is handled in a realistic manner.  
**

 **If this content disturbs you, consider skipping this chapter.**

* * *

Despite her slowly-growing camaraderie with the rest of the Slytherins, Hermione continued to study with Harry, Neville, and Ron in the library. More frequently, it seemed like Harry and Ron were too busy working on a secret project, trying to find some obscure piece of information to do with flannel. Ron refused to talk to her about the project, while Harry would look at her apologetically whenever she asked. Hermione found she didn't really care, despite Ron's goading – whatever the Gryffindor boys were looking into, she was certain that the Slytherin Fashion Code wouldn't allow her to wear flannel, even if it did something amazing like protect against curses and burns.

She enjoyed talking with Harry and Neville immensely, when Madam Pince wasn't near their table. While Hermione was able to hear the school gossip from Tracey and Pansy back in her dorm, it was fascinating to her to hear what _boys_ considered gossip and would spread around.

It was through one such gossip session that Hermione learned she was popular with the Ravenclaws.

 _"What?"_ she hissed at Neville, bewildered. _"How?"_

Neville blushed brilliantly, while Harry shrugged and grinned.

"The Ravenclaws think you're some brilliant goddess of knowledge, what with you always knowing everything," he teased her. "They're kind of intimidated by you, I think, because you're usually always around the other Slytherins."

" _I'm_ a Slytherin," Hermione automatically responded. "Of _course_ I'm always around the Slytherins."

"They really admire you, Hermione," Neville said. "I bet if you visited them, they'd all want to be your friend. They all say nice things about you when you're not there."

"That, and your Halloween photos probably help," Harry said with a sly grin. "At least with the boys."

Hermione paused, her eyes narrowing.

" _What_ Halloween photos?"

Harry's and Neville's eyes widened and they exchanged a wary look, before, hesitantly, Harry began to speak.

Ernie MacMillan, apparently, had kept a set of the photos he'd taken of Hermione for her parents. He'd been proud of how they'd turned out, or something like that, Harry stressed, which was why he kept a set. Michael Corner had seen them, however, and asked Ernie for a copy, which Ernie had made and given him.

Terry Boot, in turn, had seen Michael's photos, and had wanted a copy as well. After Terry got some, Blaise Zabini and Anthony Goldstein had wanted some, and suddenly, nearly every guy in her year had seen Hermione's too-short Muggle witch costume photos with her failing to stay on a broom.

Neville's face stayed a steady red while they were telling the story, and Harry looked uneasy as he spoke, but Hermione could tell he was being forthright. When he finished, Hermione was torn between horrified embarrassment and indignant rage.

"He _sold_ them _?_ " she fumed. "Ernie just _sold_ my photos to anyone who asked?"

Harry winced but didn't deny it, and Hermione groaned, clutching her head.

"So _everyone_ has seen me dressed up like a Muggle witch?" she moaned. "And pretending to fly on a broom?" She paused. "…did Ernie give them _all_ the pictures? Even the ones where I kept messing up and falling off?"

It was Harry's turn to shrug, but Neville nodded behind him, red.

Abruptly, Hermione stood from the table, shoving her books into her bag in a very non-Hermione-like manner.

"I think I need to go see Ernie," she told them sweetly, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and storming off.

She found Ernie in the old Charms classroom that was used for the Gobstones club. When she knocked on the doorway and asked if they could spare Ernie for a moment, she was careful to keep her face soft and tone normal, and Ernie even had the gall to grin and nod at her as he said something to his teammates, before rising to join her in the corridor. Keeping her touch light, Hermione nimbly plucked Ernie's wand from his front pocket as he closed the door, distracting him with a smile.

A moment after he had closed the door, Hermione had her wand at his throat, her eyes flashing, and Ernie's eyes went wide with alarm.

"What-"

"Do not you _what_ me, Ernie MacMillan," Hermione seethed. "Are you, or are you not, selling photos of me to anyone who asks?"

She could see the unease creep onto his face as he hesitated, and Hermione felt her rage grow.

"I thought you were _nice!_ " she spat. "You were _nice,_ offering to do me a favor, and instead, I learn you're just making fun of me behind my back!"

"What? No, Hermione, I didn't-"

Hermione dragged Ernie down the hall by his collar to the next empty classroom, Ernie stumbling awkwardly along, sputtering objections.

She shoved him inside and slammed the door shut. With a furious levitation charm, all the old desks and chairs threw themselves out of the way to pile against the walls, Ernie gaping openly at the display of power. Hermione threw his wand at him, her gaze furious.

"We'll see who will be laughing now." Her eyes narrowed. "Can I trust you not to cast until the count of three, or will you cast at me behind my back?"

Ernie's eyes flew wide. " _What?_ Hermione, no! I'm not going to duel you-!" He scrambled for something in his robes, and Hermione rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, I'm going to duel you, so if you don't put up some sort of fight, this will-"

Abruptly, a pile of papers hit her chest, and Hermione looked at Ernie incredulously.

"What's this?"

Ernie looked like he was trembling, but he remained fast.

"The photos," he told her steadily. "The set that the boys all bought."

Hermione kept her eyes on him, making sure he wasn't going to curse her, before slowly, slowly bending down.

The first thing she noticed was there were more photos than the set Ernie had given her – this set was much larger. Carefully keeping an eye on Ernie, she began flipping through them, her eyes slowly widening.

There were normal ones: Hermione posed in the window, Hermione smiling at the camera, Hermione sitting on the broom. They were good photos, and Hermione looked especially nice with her hair and make up done. But there were other photos: Hermione reaching for a book in the library, her skirt hem rising up as she stretched, her shirt rising with her arm to reveal a stretch of her stomach. Hermione laughing at something in the library, bending over with her eyes dancing, her shirt slipping open at the top. Hermione trying to balance on the broomstick, accidentally flashing a long, bare leg as she climbed on, before sitting down on it and throwing the camera an amused look – a look that had been self-deprecating amusement at the time, but now looked flirtatious instead.

She flipped through them, understanding dawning as she looked.

"No one was making fun of you, Hermione," Ernie said, stepping towards her slowly. "It- you looked so-"

Hermione's eyes shot up. "Looked so _what?_ "

Ernie winced.

"You have to realize," he began, "that in the wizarding world, there's not really – there's not any photos like these. Everyone is covered up all the time, generally, and there's not any photos of people being so- of people flirty on film."

"Of being sexy," Hermione said flatly, and Ernie winced.

"It's not a _bad_ thing," he told her, anxious. "And it's not like any of them are explicit or anything! It's just- you look _good_ in the photos, Hermione! You should be proud! And guys just wanted a copy to look at themselves, y'know? 'Cause they're so nice!"

"I should be _proud_ that my classmates are looking at photos of me like I'm some pin-up model?" Hermione's tone was dangerous, and Ernie swallowed hard, taking a step back. "I'm appalled that you even _want_ these – we're only eleven and twelve!"

Hermione abruptly realized she'd backed Ernie up against the wall without meaning to when he stumbled upon hitting it, and gradually became aware that she was poking him with her wand in the chest. She frowned and lowered it but kept her eyes on Ernie, filled with a hateful glare.

"Who all did you sell these to?" she snapped, and Ernie fumbled with his robes.

"I- ah- I don't know, but I have a list somewhere," he told her. "I kept a list of everyone who bought a set, and a list of any ideas they had for the future, too-"

"For the _future?_ " Hermione said, incredulous, and Ernie held up his hands in surrender.

"Some of the guys who got your photos had ideas. Y'know, for further photo shoots." He winced. "I never said anything about them to you, obviously, but I kept a record just in case-"

His eyes implored her to believe him, and, rather disgustedly, Hermione found she did. Stepping back, she allowed him a little room to breathe, and Ernie picked his wand up from the floor. Hermione gnawed at her lip, her mind racing.

"You will tell _no one_ about me cornering you here," she told him. " _No one._ If I hear that you have breathed a _word_ of this discussion to _anyone_ , I _will_ challenge you do a duel in front of the entire school, and you _will_ lose."

Ernie nodded slowly. Hermione knew he didn't have any doubts as to which one of them was the more powerful caster.

"You will send me this list. Both the list of people who bought the photos, and the photo shoot ideas. _Both_ lists. I want these lists by the end of the day tomorrow." She glared at him. "So you had _better_ make sure you find them."

Ernie nodded slowly. Hermione wrenched her face up, torn, before making a harsh sound.

"You will continue to sell the photos to anyone who asks – third year and down, only," she said finally, and Ernie's eyes widened. "You will send me a note with the name of anyone who does, however. I want to know everyone who has them." She paused. "How much are you selling them for?"

Ernie thought. "The five best ones for four galleons. The entire set for twenty."

Hermione fought to keep her eyes from bulging. _Twenty galleons_ for pictures of _her?_

"You will send me half of the earnings," she informed him. "Post and future earnings. And don't even pretend you don't still have their gold, Ernie – you're cooped up in a castle with nowhere to spend it."

"I- alright," Ernie conceded. "I understand."

"Good," Hermione said, tossing her hair. She looked back at him. "And you, of course, will not speak of this little conversation to anyone?"

"Not a word," Ernie agreed. "Not a peep."

"Then get out of here," she told him, opening the door with a flick of her wand. "Go back to your gobstones club and get out of my sight."

Ernie scrambled around a fallen desk to do just that, and once he had left, Hermione sighed, pinching her nose tightly and counting to thirty before finally heading for her dorm. Once she reached there, she threw herself down on her bed with a huff, thinking.

Really, the part that annoyed her the most was that it had been happening without her permission, she decided. Now that she knew about it, and she could control it, Hermione found it didn't bother her as much as she'd thought it would. And she had the perfect alibi – _Ernie_ was doing it, not her, and she had no idea that he was selling her photos. She could show a teacher the set she'd been given, and Hermione thought that if the situation called for it, she'd be able to manage furious tears of indignation and horror – _especially_ if she was worried about getting in trouble with a teacher.

Deep inside of her, so deep she didn't want to explore it too deeply, Hermione found it kind of flattering. Her classmates had thought _she_ was so pretty that they _actively_ wanted to look at her. Hermione had never felt that kind of attention before.

And really – was it so different from the photos the paparazzi took of child movie stars?

Rolling over on her bed with a groan, Hermione reached for a book to distract her mind.

She'd made her decision. There was no use agonizing over it any further.


	30. The Package

Hermione tried to put the issue with the pictures with Ernie out of her mind. It made her uncomfortable to think about. And she felt kind of uncomfortable about the fact that she was uncomfortable about it; a true Slytherin should only see the opportunity and potential in such circumstances, she thought. Whereas she just felt… odd, about the entire thing.

Ernie had provided the list to her, and while there had been more names on it than she'd expected, she'd barely glanced at it before tucking it away in her trunk. She didn't want to think about it.

There was something she didn't like about the entire thing. The pictures didn't even look like her, really – she'd done her hair and makeup and worn a costume. In real life, her hair was a big bushy cloud most days, not gentle waves. She certainly didn't have long eyelashes and softly smoky eyes most days – usually, her eyes were sharp, sometimes with dark circles under them from when she stayed up too late reading. And she wore the same robes and uniform as everyone else.

It felt like people were looking at a fake version of her. It was weird, to think about. If they liked the pictures of her more than how she actually looked day to day, what did that mean? Did they look at the picture and superimpose that image on her? Hermione wasn't sure what she thought of it all, and she disliked thinking about it, though it kept cropping back up in her mind.

When a large, misshapen package arrived for Hermione one morning, carried by a very tired owl, Pansy was the one who noticed, as Hermione had been distracted again.

"It's here!"

Daphne and Tracey were quick to elbow her and hiss at her to be quiet, and Hermione smirked as she untied the package from the owl, tearing open the envelope on top.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Your first order put you at a higher tier of Avon saleswoman, so you're now making 15% on anything you sell. I'm not sure what sort of school girls you go to school with, who are able to drop hundreds of pounds on makeup all at once, but color me impressed. I used to make pocket change in school by selling candy bars. You clearly have the better plan._

 _The order came in rather quickly – it was stripping the labels off for you that took longer. If you need things faster in the future, I can send them with the labels on, and you could magic them off? Just a thought._

 _Dad and I both miss you terribly, and we're terribly curious what all you're getting up to! We look forward to seeing you over the holidays. We eagerly count the days._

 _Much love,_

 _Mum_

 _P.S. Yes, we can go to London to visit your Diagon Alley again over the break._

Hermione grinned and pocketed the letter. She nodded to the other girls, who were nearly shaking with suppressed squeals. Unfortunately for them, it was a Tuesday, and they had class to go to. Hermione barely had any time to run to her room and stash the package away.

Herbology that day was easy – a lesson on how to properly weed plants. Hermione suspected it was more for the pureblooded people who had never had to garden in their life, but she paid mild attention all the same. She was amused to see Pansy checking the clock every few minutes, and Daphne also staring at her watch, clearly longing.

When the bell finally rang, Hermione was swept up in a race back to the dorm rooms before lunch.

"Give it give it give it!" Tracey said, bouncing on her feet.

"I'm so excited," Daphne admitted, looking flushed. "I can't wait to see what I can look like with this."

"I can't wait to curl my hair," Pansy announced. "It will change my life."

Hermione let a small smile play around her lips as she unwrapped the package, carefully checking the order form she'd written out with what had been sent. In order to make the math easy, Hermione had just charged whatever the price was in pounds, but in galleons instead. A £5 mascara, therefore, cost 5 galleons. With the exchange rate being roughly £5 to a galleon, Hermione was pocketing 80% pure profit on each transaction, not counting Avon's commission rate.

It was exorbitant, but the girls had paid it.

And it had added up. Pansy had paid 45 galleons for her hair curler, leaving Hermione with 36 galleons of profit from one sale alone. She had amassed a nice bundle of galleons to put into her vault when Christmas time came.

"Tracey," Hermione said, handing Tracey her pack. Tracey had gotten some eyeshadows, eyeliner, and mascara, as well as a powder. She hadn't had the money to get too much.

"Thank you," Tracey said reverently, taking the package with care. She hurried over to her bed and began examining everything, wide-eyed.

"Millie," Hermione announced, handing Millicent her things. Millicent had gotten a bit more, and she offered Hermione a rare grin as she took it from her.

"Pansy." Pansy had ordered a lot, nearly one of each main item, in addition to her hair curler. Pansy snatched her things from Hermione's hands, hurrying to her bed with it.

"And Daphne."

Daphne smiled at Hermione, and carefully looked through her things. Daphne had ordered a nearly everything – eyeshadows, eyeliners, lipsticks, lip glosses, highlighter, bronzer, powders, compacts, foundation, concealer, a curling iron, and even 'magic wipes' that helped cleanse your face of the potions before you went to bed, so as not to clog your pores.

Hermione had made a lot of money from Daphne alone. A lot.

Hermione smiled as she watched her roommates dig through their new things. After advising them to be careful, reminding them to make sure they all looked natural, and tossing them photo tutorials she'd asked her mother to cut and copy from Muggle fashion magazines, Hermione went down to lunch. She felt a bit better, now – her scheme was working, and she wouldn't have to wear make up herself anymore, now, if she didn't want.

She saw Harry approaching the Gryffindor table, and she quickly pulled him aside.

"I need a favor," she said quickly. "If anyone comments on how different the first year Slytherin girls look, don't say anything, alright?"

Harry blinked. "Why?"

"I've started selling them Muggle makeup," Hermione admitted. "But they don't know that. If they can keep it subtle enough and keep it a secret, I'm hoping I can make a mint off them before they figure it out."

Harry looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"I'll do my best to not react," he told her with a grin. "But if Pansy shows up with green glittery eyelids, no promises I won't laugh."

"Fair enough," Hermione agreed with a smile.

Lunch wasn't crowded that day, so Hermione settled in with a book. After lunch was History, and Hermione watched as her classmates carefully returned. To her surprise, none of them looked like they had done anything, save a little bounce to Pansy's hair.

Daphne sidled up to Hermione. "We decided that if we all looked abruptly different in the middle of the day, it'd be really obvious something had changed," she explained in a hushed voice. "We all agreed to gradually start using things, so we gradually look prettier and prettier."

"That's smart," Hermione told her, nodding. "Good thinking."

History was an incredible bore, and Hermione took her book out to read. Halfway through class, she was surprised to see a small owl charmed out of paper fly over to her and flatten out in front of her. Looking around curiously, she met Blaise's gaze. He was grinning at her. Raising an eyebrow, she flattened it out.

 _You're learning to play chess?_

Immediately, Hermione scowled at the note. She'd been reading a chess strategy book, trying to memorize patterns. She wasn't about to let a stupid game stop her from winning the obstacle course.

 _I'm trying to get better at chess,_ she wrote back. _I already know how to play._

She sent the note fluttering back, watching as it flapped along the floor. Blaise opened it, grinned, and scrawled something back.

 _I'm good at chess,_ the note said. _Want to practice in the Common Room some time?_

Hermione considered. Given she was horrible at chess, any help she could get would be a plus, though she'd have to sacrifice her pride to reveal that to him. She didn't think Blaise was offering because he knew about the giant chess board, but she'd be able to subtly probe if they played together. Why was Blaise offering, though?

 _Blaise never cared what your blood status was,_ Theo's voice echoed in her head. _He cared that you were Slytherin, female, and attractive._

Hermione bit her lip to force back a smile, remembering how he'd demanded a kiss as payment for his help with the Cerberus.

Looking over at him, she nodded, and a wide smile spread across Blaise's face, provoking a smile from Hermione in turn.

Even if she didn't learn to get better at chess, these lessons had the potential to be fun all on their own.


	31. Office Hours

Though it wasn't well known or well-used amongst the first years, the professors did, in fact, keep office hours. Hermione suspected office hours were mostly used by OWL and NEWT students, but they were open to anybody.

Snape's office hours were scarce and generally late in the evening, and uncomfortably close to curfew some days. Hermione suspected that this was to discourage people from visiting him during office hours and to give preference to the Slytherins, who could make it back to their dorm much quicker than the other Houses to make curfew.

Even knowing Snape gave the Slytherins preferential treatment, it still took Hermione several minutes to get up the courage to knock on Snape's door.

"Enter."

Determinedly keeping her back straight and her shoulders up, Hermione entered.

Snape's office held similarities with his classroom, but had better light, a better chair, and carpet. There were shelves with unpleasant-looking things in jars behind him, but they looked less threatening when they were seen in better light. Hermione took her time looking around, noting with some astonishment that Snape seemed to have appropriated a cushioned Muggle office chair from somewhere.

Snape looked up at her from his grading and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione closed the door and took a seat in front of him, fighting the urge to swing her legs and bite her lip.

"That night the troll attacked," she said finally. "You came and got me from the window sill."

Snape's face immediately grew shuttered.

"You agreed never to tell anyone about that," he said.

"And I haven't," Hermione said quickly. "But…" She hesitated, biting her lip and looking up at him.

Snape's voice gentled. "But…?"

"Will you teach me how to do it?" she asked, all in a rush.

Snape blinked. "Teach you…?"

"How to fly," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Without a broom. Just… myself. Like you did."

Snape, in general, wasn't an expressive person, unless it was sneering and smirking and scowling. Now, his eyes grew very large, and he looked like he was trying not to show what he was feeling.

"Why, Miss Granger," he demanded, "do you want to know how to fly?"

His voice was harsh again, and Hermione blinked at the change, tilting her head.

"Because it was incredible," she told him honestly. "And I'm not overly fond of brooms. I'd love to be able to fly, even if just a little, to reach the top shelves of a bookcase, or to stop myself from dying if I'm ever pushed from the Astronomy tower, or even just for fun, like the Quidditch team does."

"In case you are pushed…?" Snape looked alarmed. "Miss Granger, are people threatening you?"

Hermione looked away. "Not really. Just… making remarks." She shrugged. "My classmates are all pretty okay now, but some of the older students still hiss things under their breath at me."

Snape's eyes hardened. "Who?"

"I don't know their names," Hermione admitted. "Just… there are a lot. Slytherin puts a lot of value on pureblood ancestry. And… I don't have that."

Snape looked at her again, considering.

"Flying autonomously is very, very difficult, Miss Granger," he told her. "There are very few wizards who can do it."

Hermione nodded. "I figured that's why it wasn't common," she told him. "It'd make sense why you can do it, then, but not any of the other teachers."

Snape looked taken aback for a moment at the compliment, before refocusing.

"Because of this, you would not be able to fly," he told her. "You simply don't have the magical power necessary."

"I thought of that too," Hermione said quickly. "But sir, I'm much smaller than you, and I weigh much less. I know that it requires immense magical power to fly… but perhaps it would require much less for a smaller person to fly?"

Snape looked down his nose at her, raising his eyebrows.

"You want to try regardless?" he asked her. "Despite my confidence that it will not work?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Has anyone ever tried to teach a child how to fly?" she asked. "Or anyone that hadn't finished their growth spurt?"

Snape looked like he was actually considering it, now.

"I know of two people in the world who can fly autonomously, Miss Granger, and I am one of them," he told her. "The Dark Lord was the other."

If he thought she was trying to be like the Dark Lord, it explained why he was so alarmed she wanted to learn.

"Three's a good number of people," Hermione said, offering him a smile. "There's no harm in trying, is there?"

Snape stared at her, before reclining in his chair with a sigh.

"Regardless, I don't think you have the magical capacity yet, Miss Granger," he told her. "You are still very young. I doubt your power has even begun to exponentially grow yet."

"I'm very strong for my age!" Hermione objected. "And I've been practicing – wait, what?"

Hermione stopped and looked Snape.

"…what do you mean, my power hasn't begun to exponentially grow yet?" she asked suspiciously.

Snape looked amused.

"It is known that at the onset of puberty, a witch or wizard's power begins to grow exponentially, fully maturing when they are seventeen," he told her. "Currently, your power is only increasing linearly."

Hermione stared at him.

"Is this one of those things that everybody just _knows_?" she demanded. "Do all the purebloods just _know_ that this is how power reserves work?"

"I doubt it," Snape told her. "I was made aware of this through somebody's… private research."

Hermione's mind was racing, and she started pacing the floor.

"If my power reserve started growing at eleven, and it stops at seventeen," she murmured. "In order to… Sir, what counts as the 'official onset of puberty'?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"For a witch, when she first bleeds," he told her. "For a wizard… generally, the first nocturnal emission, or emission done otherwise."

Hermione nodded, doing her best to seem professional, despite the topic.

"I've already been eleven for a year, and twelve for a few months," she murmured. "Average age for a girl to get her period is twelve and a half, so that's still half a year away. In order to maximize it…"

Her mind raced. She was going to have to figure out the optimal time to have her period, and try to force her body to have it then. She'd have to run numbers to see how best it would work – long enough that she had a good starting amount of power to increase exponentially, but not too long that it wouldn't increase exponentially for a long enough period of time. If there were actual _numbers_ behind all this that controlled how much power you got, she _had_ to try to maximize it. The risks if she didn't were too dire - what if _Pansy_ ended up more powerful than her simply because she got lucky with when she got her period?

"Miss Granger, you are purposefully trying to maximize your magical power?"

Concentration broken, Hermione looked back to Snape.

"Of course," she told him. "If I'm going to convince everyone that I'm New Blood, I need to be a powerful witch. Very powerful, probably."

Snape didn't so much as flutter an eyelid at the mention of 'New Blood,' confirming Hermione's suspicions – somebody had already informed him of her claim.

"How are you doing this?" he asked her.

"I've been casting spells each night until I've completely expended my magical power," Hermione told him. "If I keep pushing myself to the limit, I find that the next night, I can do a little more."

Snape looked impressed despite himself.

"This is working?" he said. "I've never heard of anything like this."

"Well, I made it up," Hermione told him, tossing her head. "I used to be only able to levitate a book for a little while, but now I can levitate my entire chest for several minutes. I tried to levitate myself to fly, but that didn't work. I was only kind of able to make it work when I levitated my clothes, instead, with me still in them."

"And now you want to learn to fly properly."

Hermione offered him a small smile. "Yes? Please?"

Snape sighed and pinched his nose slightly, rubbing it.

"Fine," he said finally. "I will teach you, even if only to see if it is possible to teach a child. It will be an interesting experiment, to say the least. If it works… well…"

He trailed off, but Hermione was hugging herself tightly and making an excited noise that just seemed to be slipping out. Snape gave her a grudging smile.

"Students who are actively trying to learn and maximize their potential do not often come through my classroom," Snape told her. "If you are looking for a teacher, I will teach you."

Hermione beamed at him.


	32. Interlude

"Hermione, are the Slytherins all picking on Ron on purpose?"

Hermione looked up at Harry, who was sitting across the table from her in the library.

"What do you mean?" she asked, carefully side-stepping the question.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before.

"Ron's lost over a hundred points from Gryffindor for fighting in the halls, and it always seems like it's Slytherins who are baiting him," Harry told her. "Everyone in Gryffindor is furious with him and keeps telling him to just ignore any taunts, but with Ron's temper… it's like he can't."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip hard to keep from grinning.

"Ron's always had this thing against Slytherins from the start, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Is it any real surprise that there's tension between him and them now?"

Harry sighed. "I guess not."

Hermione turned back to her essay, but she found her mind was drifting.

She'd been trying to think of how to provoke Ron into an explosive confrontation in front of lots of people while still seeming like his friend during it. Maybe this was a good pressure point. If Ron went off about Slytherin, and she defended her house, he might turn around and yell at her for it. She could start crying, then – Ron yelling at her in her face would be a probable cause to make a first year cry, right?

She made a mental note to talk to the others. They might have some ideas.

Setting the issue aside, she returned to her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, determinedly using the correct resources to write it. Honestly, it seemed like Quirrell was purposefully trying to teach them the wrong information sometimes.

* * *

"Check."

Hermione glared at Blaise, who looked amused. Her eyes darting around the board, she carefully moved her rook.

Blaise moved his knight in response and grinned.

"Checkmate."

"Augh!" Hermione said, hiding her face in her hands. "I'm awful at this!"

"You're not that bad," Blaise told her, still grinning. "You're not good, but you're not bad."

"I am never going to get better at this stupid game," she despaired. "This is awful. Terrible. Horrible. Auugghhhh…"

Blaise snickered at her dramatics, before setting the chessboard up again.

"If you're so bad at it, why even play it?" he asked her. "You could always take up checkers or gobstones instead."

Hermione consciously bit her lip, trying to look like she was admitting a secret.

"…Weasley is really good at chess," she told Blaise. "For just once, I'd like to crush him…"

Blaise started laughing.

"You've got a way to go, then," he told her. "You're already creaming him in classes. Why is chess so important?"

"I just- I want to take the one thing he's so good at, " Hermione said, "and I want to beat him at his own stupid game-"

Blaise was still snickering at her fury.

"We'll have to think of another way for you to beat him, then, won't we?" Blaise said mildly.

Hermione gave him a look of despair. "Like what?"

Blaise shrugged, waving a hand. "I'll look into it. Don't worry."

Hermione gave him a suspicious look, and Blaise grinned, his eyes dancing.

"We're Slytherins, Hermione," he reminded her. "If we're losing, we just change the game."


	33. Winter Break

The days turned from fall to winter, and Hermione used a few of her Avon galleons to buy herself a Slytherin cardigan to wear during classes, matching most of the other girls in her dorm. The dungeons were considerably colder than the rest of the castle, and the first years all determinedly tried to learn warming charms together, despite charm's advanced level of magic. Hermione was the only one able to get it at all, but not to a very good degree, and not enough to keep a person warm.

Instead, she taught her classmates how to charm bluebell flames and put them in jars to keep warm, which impressed them. Theo, ever innovative, ran off and brought back empty potion vials, and soon they all had mini bluebell flames in flasks and vials stashed about themselves in all their pockets. Hermione even stitched one of them into the tag of her cardigan with her sewing kit. She knew her hair would cover the bump on her back.

Over time, the Slytherin girls gradually began wearing makeup. Hermione was impressed with how subtly they pulled it off. It started with mascara and eyebrow grooming, then concealer was added as they slowly added more to their routines. Pansy and Daphne began to use their hair curlers immediately, even helping to curl Tracy and Millie's occasionally. A warming charm to heat the metal was much easier to cast than a proper heating charm, and Hermione suspected it would be the one charm Pansy would ace without question on their finals at the end of the year.

The Slytherin boys tended to view the girls' changes with small suspicion, as if something was off, but they couldn't quite tell what – but the rest of the first-year boys seemed very appreciative. Hermione noticed Tracy and Millie's self-confidence grow as boys started to look at them, and she was happy for them, though a large part of her wasn't entirely thrilled with how this was all coming about.

The galleons, though, she needed. If she was determined to establish a House of her own, she would need money to do so. She was well aware of the kind of sums the older pureblood houses threw around as pocket change, and she knew she needed seed money to try and earn a fortune of her own. Somehow.

Classes continued to follow predictable patterns, and Hermione found herself easily at the top of most of them. She enjoyed the challenges Professor McGonagall would throw at her, but even those were getting easier to master, with her expanded core. Herbology was interesting, and Hermione wondered if it would tie in with Potions class at a higher level. Charms continued to be easy, and Potions…

Potions was the class where Hermione had the most fun.

Part of her felt distinctly bad for enjoying Potions so much, as a definite part of her enjoyment was seeing Snape berate Ron Weasley. Another part of Hermione felt pleased at it, though, and oddly touched by her Head of House's loyalty – he'd started yelling at Ron after the incident with the troll. Neville was still largely hopeless, but Snape had taken to sighing and vanishing his messes and making him start again without as much fuss, which seemed to help Neville to be slowly improving. Hermione wondered if Neville was only doing as poorly as he was because he was scared of Snape – Neville's essays always seemed alright.

The other fun part of Potions was brewing them. Hermione and Theo formed an excellent team, quietly bickering with each other in the back of the classroom on what to try and how to improve what they were brewing. It was also mentally challenging to be brewing the same thing, but different, in two different cauldrons at a time. She and Theo were getting very good at working as a team, able to anticipate the next move the other would make, though not all their experimental potions were successful.

Snape had given them a small testing kit, to begin figuring out what kind of substance they'd made. Hermione recognized some of the small pieces of paper as litmus tests, but there were other round parchments designed to have a drop of potion on them and change color diagnostically. When they were successful in making a known potion, the parchment would turn a glowing green. Whenever they failed, there was a dull red glow. Whenever they ended up with a poison, it would turn black, and an unknown substance that was safe to consume and would have some effect generated a blue. Hermione asked after the charm to make more of the strips, but Snape waved her off, saying it was something of his own creation, and very difficult to replicate.

Every night, Hermione was dutiful with her magical exhaustion training. Levitation was still the best and fastest way she'd found to exhaust her power reserves. She'd gotten good enough to keep her mahogany chest floating for long periods, so she was working on her bookcase next – with all the books on it, it was much heavier than her chest. She was considering trying her own bed after mastering the bookcase, but she was worried about the noise she might make if she failed. The last thing she needed was the other girls investigating what she was doing making loud noises after they were asleep.

As time continued, November easing into December, Hermione found Christmas rapidly approaching. She signed up to go home with the other Slytherins, which brought some mocking remarks from the older students that Hermione steadfastly ignored. Muggles or not, she desperately missed her family, and she had things she needed to do away from the school anyway. She wasn't about to celebrate the holiday with a group of people who still largely judged her.

Christmas, however, brought up a new issue: gifts.

Hermione had found a guide of sorts on gift-giving in a very, very old hostess manual for Yule. While there were rules on what presents to give clearly outlined, it was difficult not only to update the book's suggestions to more modern times, but to classify her classmates into the categories needed for giving appropriate gifts. Gift giving for Christmas was a big deal, and the last thing Hermione wanted to do was accidentally slight someone, or unknowingly give someone something romantic without the corresponding intention behind it.

There were so many possible categories, too. There was "Friends," but also "Close friends," "Acquaintances," "Allies," and "Coworkers." There were also categories for "Enemies who don't know they are your enemy," "Possible future romantic attachments," and "People of tainted blood whom you can't dismiss."

Hermione found herself making note of all the suggested gifts in the last category, intending to keep of list of anyone who sent her something from it.

By the time the break finally rolled around, Hermione was bouncing on the edge of her seat the whole ride back to London, and after exiting Platform 9 ¾, she ran to her parents and hugged them with all her might. Her father chuckled as she buried her head into his chest.

"Well, well. Did someone miss us?" he teased.

"Of course she missed us," her mother said, a smile in her tone. "The question is, how much did she miss us?"

Hermione felt her heart lift at her parents' voice.

"You have no idea."


	34. Bloodthorne

Because they were already in London, and her parents had taken the day off from their practice to come and get her, the Granger family all went to Diagon Alley to take care of Hermione's wizarding business as soon as possible.

Hermione dragged her parents to Madam Malkin's Robes first thing, asking Madam Malkin for a simple over-robe for both of her parents. The seamstress nodded knowingly and had her parents clothed in a jiffy, allowing them to blend into the rest of the alley seamlessly. Hermione didn't want any trouble with snobs to put a damper on the holiday.

Her mother and father accompanied her around to shops as she bought gifts for her friends. When Hermione expressed she wanted to go to the bank, her father shooed her off alone with a gleam in his eye, suggesting that he and her mother might need some Christmas shopping time alone. Hermione was so thrilled with the idea of getting a wizarding gift as a present that she nearly skipped her way across the street to Gringotts.

Gringotts was just as imposing as the last time. Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the doors, approached the counter, and waited.

When it was her turn, the goblin standing there gave her an expectant look. It looked unpleasant. Going from what little goblin lore she had found in a book on humanoid creatures, Hermione carefully offered the goblin a respectful bow.

"I would speak with Bloodthorne," she said carefully. The goblin narrowed his eyes.

"Bloodthorne is busy," he informed her. "I would help you."

"I would wait for Bloodthorne," she told him back. "My time is my own, and I shall spend it waiting."

The goblin gave her an odd look, but he hopped down and left the counter. Hermione let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she was holding, feeling dizzy with a sense of relief. Dealing with the goblins was unnerving.

A few minutes later, Hermione saw a goblin walking towards her directly across the floor. When he reached her, he offered her a bow, and Hermione bowed back deeply. The goblin looked at her, and Hermione was surprised to see he seemed happy. The smile looked odd on the goblin's face.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he said. He grinned, showing all his teeth. "We meet again. Another exchange rate to haggle?"

"Bloodthorne," Hermione said, bowing again. She raised an eyebrow. "Not at all. There was a promise made, at our last meeting."

The goblin looked at her expectantly, and Hermione smirked.

"Loans," she told him. "We were going to discuss loans."

The smile that stretched across Bloodthorne's face now was distinctly less pleasant and much more predatory, and Hermione noted that it looked much more natural on the goblin's face than the smile had.

"Oh, yes," Bloodthorne said softly. "Let me get us a room, Hermione Granger, and we shall talk."

* * *

"So people will voluntarily agree to pay more than they borrowed?"

Bloodthorne still looked suspicious of the whole concept of loans, but there was a greedy spark in his eyes. Hermione held her patience and tried again.

"Yes. It's the concept of immediate need versus later obligations," she explained. "For example, if someone's roof falls in, they need to fix it immediately."

Bloodthorne gave her a look as if she was an idiot. "Of course."

"But what if they didn't have the money?" she challenged him. "What if it was a poor family, and they didn't have the 50 galleons to fix the roof?"

Bloodthorne's gaze was slow, measuring this time.

"You are saying they would borrow it," he stated.

"Yes. The bank would make an agreement with the family. The bank would loan the man the 50 galleons he needed now, and in exchange, he would pay back more than he took. It's called 'interest'," Hermione explained. "It can be done multiple ways. The arrangement could be that the man would pay the bank back in installments of 5 galleons a month for a year, for example – the bank would make 10 galleons interest, then. Or, the bank could agree to charge a percentage of the debt as interest, and have it accrue over time."

"How does that one work?" Bloodthorne's eyes glinted.

"I'm not entirely sure," Hermione admitted. She held up a sheaf of papers. "I brought some contracts that Muggles use for this kind of thing in the Muggle world that we could look at as examples."

Bloodthorne leaned over the table, and together they looked over the papers.

"I don't know the math to know how it works," Hermione told him. "Maybe if you have an Arithmancer? But a simpler repayment contract might go over better in the wizarding world, anyway. You say that this has never been done before?"

Bloodthorne shook his head. "Wizards loan money to each other, and to their friends, and the debt is backed by trust. They have never borrowed from the bank."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking.

"…is part of that because wizards are unwilling to borrow from goblins?" she asked, as delicately as possible.

To her surprise, Bloodthorne snorted.

"No. Wizards take from the goblins frequently. No, it is that the goblins have never been inclined to help wizards." He sneered. "However, this concept of… interest. This 'interest' changes things."

Hermione grinned. "Then it will work?"

"Oh, yes, it will work." Bloodthorne shot her a nasty, triumphant work. "It is as you said – we will have to use your account exclusively, as you alone have given us permission to use your gold for the loans, but in return, you will earn part of the return."

"Excellent." Hermione pulled another paper forward. "This is a draft of something I thought might work as a good standard contract. You fill in the numbers here – how much they are borrowing, how much they have to repay back each month, and how much is added to the debt as a late fee if they don't make a payment on time."

"Late fee?" Bloodthorne looked pleased.

"Yes. Then, here are the other terms – the terms of what the bank can seize as recompense against the loan if the borrower defaults."

Bloodthorne scanned the contract. "…if they do not pay back what they borrowed, we can take something of theirs?"

"Yes. It's called 'collateral'. It makes sure that the bank will always be paid back," Hermione explained. "If someone wants to borrow 100 galleons, they need to offer something the bank can take in case they don't pay it back. Most people don't care, because they know they'll just pay it back, but it can become very important. They might offer their house, for example, or a car. Maybe in the wizarding world, the copyright to a potion or book that earns money."

Bloodthorne's eyes glittered greedily.

"I understand entirely," he said. "I am ready."

"I have made you my exclusive account manager," Hermione told him solemnly. "I trust you will not bankrupt me?"

Bloodthorne gave her a nasty smirk.

"I will not use too much gold at a time for a loan," he told her. "I suspect that I shall have to mail you each contract for you to sign against – the Ministry is unlikely to honor a contract between a wizard and a goblin, but with you signing on the side of the Bank, there will be no legal out."

Hermione shrugged. "That's fine."

"All that remains, then, is for us to discuss your terms," he told her, "as you will be the one whose gold we will be borrowing."

Hermione straightened. This was the part she was expecting to be difficult.

"As it is your money, and you are allowing the bank to use it to gain money over time for free, the Bank offers you 85% of the interest earned, and a discounted price for any property seized by the bank in the event you desire it," Bloodthorne said, his eyes glinting.

Hermione had to bite her tongue hard to not gasp aloud. She'd been planning on offering the goblins 50/50, as they were the ones doing all the work. She'd expected a lowball offer like 35%, and to have to fight her way up to 50%. But if they were starting by offering her 85%...

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"It's my gold, and I could do this all without the bank if I wanted," she said, putting her nose in the air. "95%, and I get any property seized by loan defaults."

Bloodthorne threw his head back and cackled delightedly.

"The witch has claws!" he exclaimed, looking at her with satisfaction. "90%, and you will have first claim to any property seized by the bank. If you choose to take it, the bank will recover the rest of the debt from your account instead."

Hermione considered. 90% was incredibly generous, in her mind. For Bloodthorne to be doing all the work, and only take 10%? He must either be expecting this to be incredibly lucrative over time or didn't fully realize how much power the bank had – there was no way Hermione had the time to be offering loans by herself. And the possibility of getting things through loans defaulting had potential. Wizarding property was expensive and hard to get.

"Deal, Bloodthorne," Hermione said, nodding.

Bloodthorne grinned. "We will sign."

The contract he drew up was kept very simple, in very simple and clear language, which Hermione appreciated. Bloodthorne signed with a different, fancier quill, and when Hermione used it, her hand burned as she signed, and she abruptly realized the ink was a shining red.

"Is that my blood?" she said, stifling a wave of nausea. Bloodthorne nodded.

"Contracts signed in blood are always more valid than those in ink," he told her. "Blood quills are banned for wizards to use." He grinned, showing all his pointy teeth. "But not so with goblins."

Hermione felt slightly dizzy.

"Thank you for all of your time," she told him, offering him a bow as she stood.

"The pleasure was mine," Bloodthorne assured her, eyes glittering. "Have a Happy Christmas."

"You too," Hermione said, as she turned to exit the room. She paused. "Oh! I almost forgot!"

"Forgot?"

Hermione withdrew a heavy bag from her robes.

"Please deposit this in my vault," she told him. "I know I don't have much in my vault right now. You can use this gold for loans immediately."

Bloodthorne raised an eyebrow, and then smirked.

"There is a way of doing these things, Hermione Granger," he told her.

He led her to a space at the counter outside the meeting room, cutting in front of many others waiting in line. Hermione watched as he did something with the galleons on a scale.

"There are 290 galleons here," he said finally.

Hermione nodded. "That's what I counted, too." She'd had to ask Professor Flitwick to cast a Feather-Light charm on the bag so she could carry it.

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed. "I wonder what a young witch is doing, to earn so much gold so fast."

Hermione's mind flashed to the makeup and the photos Ernie was quietly selling.

"This and that," she told him sweetly.

Bloodthorne threw his head back and roared. Hermione shivered at the cackle.

"Have a pleasant day, Miss Hermione Granger," he told her, giving her an evil, pointy grin that seemed to indicate anything but a pleasant day. "I'm sure we will be keeping in touch."


	35. Christmas Morning

Hermione woke up early Christmas Morning, to the feeling of a new weight on her feet. She groped for her wand, only to abruptly realize she wasn't allowed to cast even a simple Lumos to illuminate her room. As she groped for her lamp in the dark, she remembered that she'd had her mother register the house as a magical household, and she could do as she damn well pleased.

"Lumos."

The room softly illuminated, Hermione peered over her feet. There was a pile of packages – one that hadn't been there the night before. Hermione stared at it, wondering. There was no way owls had gotten into her room to drop them at her feet. So… what had?

Maybe there was a Magical Christmas Gift Delivery Spell that Hermione has missed somewhere. Oh well. She'd sent all her gifts by owl, but she'd try to learn for next year.

Hermione moved them all to her desk and promptly returned to sleep.

* * *

When Hermione reawoke, it was to the sound of her father bellowing in the kitchen at the much more reasonable hour of nine. Hermione couldn't help the smile spreading onto her face at her father yelling at the frying pan as she dressed, and it was with a happy fondness for her parents and a certain excitement for Christmas that she descended the stairs, mysterious gifts clutched in her arms.

"Happy Christmas, dear!"

Hermione barely had time to drop her gifts onto the couch before she was swept up in a hug.

"Happy Christmas, Mum."

"Happy Christmas, Hermione!" her father called from the kitchen, where he was attempting to make a traditional Christmas breakfast. Hermione laughed.

"Happy Christmas, Dad."

Hermione put her gifts under the tree and circled it, paying attention to the sizes and shapes of the boxes. She'd gotten more than she'd expected. Then again, she'd sent more than she probably needed to, not wanting to offend anyone. It made sense if the others did so too.

After a Christmas breakfast of French toast (eventually) and Monkey Bread, the Granger family settled happily around the Christmas tree with mugs of hot chocolate and began opening gifts.

Her parents had been wonderful. Hermione had received several books, as well as a book token to get five more that she wanted. They'd also gotten her some new clothes, as well as robes – nice, casual robes that she could wear on the weekends or after classes, instead of wearing her uniform all the time. She especially liked the fitted, emerald green ones they'd gotten her – there were hidden pockets sewn into it all over the place, and they had a bit of a dramatic flow when she walked. She felt like a medieval princess wearing them, and she was excited to be able to put bluebell flames in all those pockets to keep her warm.

Hermione had received a box of sugar quills from Harry, which amused her – she'd sent him chocolate frogs herself. From Neville, she'd received a set of real raven quills, which were considerably nicer than the ones she usually wrote with. It was just borderline of a bit much for a gift for a friend, but it was incredibly thoughtful. Hermione was glad she'd put thought into Neville's gift – she'd sent him a small Muggle planter of plants he could grow in his dorm room.

Ron hadn't sent her anything. Hermione smirked to herself and wondered if he'd feel ashamed of that fact after opening her gift. She'd sent him a classic Chudley Cannons photobook from the 70s that she'd found in a second-hand bookstore. She knew he wouldn't be able to resist it, and the fact it was so thoughtful would shame him all the more.

Hermione had sent all her dormmates Muggle makeup. She'd send Tracy and Millie actual nice palettes of eyeshadows that had run her 20 pounds each. Daphne had gotten a smaller palette, and Pansy got an extra stick of mascara. That'd been all Hermione was willing to do for Pansy; despite the truce over the Foe declaration, Pansy was still a snob.

Tracey and Millie seemed to have discussed what to get her – Millie sent her a new homework planner for the new year, and Tracey sent her a set of beautiful colored inks. Hermione loved the gift; she could color-code now to her heart's content. Daphne sent her an empty diary, which was nice, and Pansy sent her a set of gobstones, which had Hermione's eyes narrowing. Gobstones were found in every wizarding household, and to send a set as a gift was to imply that the receiver clearly didn't have one already, as they didn't belong to a true wizarding household.

Regardless of the fact that Hermione didn't own a set of gobstones, she knew that she'd been slighted.

The gifts from the guys of her dorm were the most unexpected. Hermione had sent Crabbe and Goyle cauldron cakes – impersonal, but still enjoyable. Crabbe and Goyle had each sent her a box of chocolates, but from the look of it, they were from some fancy chocolatier Hermione had never heard of. They were preassembled selections, but Hermione was sure her family would enjoy them over Christmas. She hadn't expected a gift from either of them, but she supposed that quietly tutoring them during Charms had given them a feeling of obligation.

She laughed when she got to Theo's present – The Art of Potions. It was the exact same book she'd sent to him as a gift after it had piqued her interest in Flourish and Blotts. She wondered if Theo was looking at his own gift from her at this exact moment with wry amusement, or if the coincidence had actually provoked a laugh from her austere classmate.

Blaise had sent her a chess set. It was a very nice chess set, and it seemed to be able to shrink and grow, but Hermione wasn't sure why he'd sent one to her. They'd taken up flirting over checkers in the evenings instead – they'd both agreed she was hopeless at chess. A chess set seemed almost like an insult, only it was nice. Resolving that there was some ulterior meaning behind the gift she had yet to discover, she set the matter aside.

Hermione had sent Blaise a Go set as a gift – it was a very strategic game that took years to master, and she thought it'd be fun for them to learn together. She felt a mild satisfaction that they'd both sent each other games – she's at least gotten that gift-giving level right.

She left the gift from Draco as the last from the Slytherins.

Truthfully, Hermione hadn't known what to get Draco for Christmas. They weren't friends, and they barely spoke, but Draco was the undeniable Prince of Slytherin, and she felt duty-bound to give him a gift, almost as if she owed him fealty. None of the suggestions in her book had helped – what do you get a person who can buy anything they want? – so she had set out to give him something he didn't have yet, regardless of any weird implications.

She'd sent him beautiful glass dragon she'd gotten from a Muggle collectibles store. It had been pricey, but it was worth it – the dragon was a subtle blue color, and looked as if it were frozen in time, about to blow fire at anyone who approached it. She'd enchanted it to sparkle in the light more than glass usually did. She'd wanted to enchant it to blow bluebell flames, but she'd found the magic beyond her. Layering spells like that was advanced.

She hadn't expected a gift from Draco. Draco Malfoy was too high up to just dole out gifts; the Malfoys probably received loads of gifts from people hoping to curry favor with them, and probably only sent a scarce few out to their most loyal allies. The fact that Draco had sent her a gift… Hermione didn't really know what to think about it. Was it because she was the best in their class, and he didn't want her as a foe?

"Hermione?" her mother said gently. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Carefully, Hermione undid the wrapping, setting the gorgeous bow aside for later reuse. She was left with a large velvet-covered box in her hands. Her heart thudding oddly hard in her chest, she opened it.

A strange sight greeted her. The box was clearly a jewelry box – there was a place for a necklace, as well as what Hermione presumed would be a matching set of earrings. However, there wasn't jewelry in the box. Instead, there was a cashmere scarf in Slytherin colors that came out of the box like a magician's scarves coming from his sleeve, and a finely-wrought pin of the Slytherin crest.

"Hermione?" her dad prodded. "Who is that from?"

Hermione answered him absently, staring at the box. There was a clear meaning here, if only she could grasp it. To send such things in an empty jewelry box… was this a subtle slight? Implying she'd never be good enough to receive jewelry from a guy? Or did this hold some other meaning? Giving someone clothes was almost a pre-courting gift, she'd gathered, though giving gifts that had to do with school pride was mostly a generic present and an okay area. Draco had given her a scarf that clearly hadn't come from the uniform store, and the pin… she'd never seen pins like this before. Where had it come from?

Her mother had pins like this, that she pinned to her collar sometimes when she dressed up. She kept them in her jewelry box.

So… he'd given her clothing and jewelry, really, only he hadn't, not in a way that mattered. What did that mean?

Her head starting to hurt, Hermione set the box aside to ponder more later.

There were only a few left. Ernie had sent her a book on modeling and posing, which made Hermione laugh. She'd sent him a book on Muggle photography techniques herself as a playful taunt. She hadn't expected a gift at all, let alone one like this. Ernie had probably opened her gift up early and sent back a retort.

The next was a larger box from Anthony Goldstein. Hermione shook it lightly, hearing no noise, and opened it.

Inside was a thick woolen cape, dyed a beautiful deep blue. It was folded elegantly, resting on teal and silver tissue paper, and the tag proclaimed it was from Twilfitt and Tattings. On top of it was a decorated invitation to his family's annual Christmas party, to be held in two days' time.

"Oooh," her mother said appreciatively. "That's stunning. Who sent you that?"

"A boy at school," Hermione admitted. "I think he likes me."

Her dad laughed. "Hermione, he definitely fancies you. A boy doesn't send a girl something like that for Christmas if they're just friends."

Hermione took out the cape and tried it on, swirling around. It was warm, and the fabric felt soft, especially for a wool. It was very, very nice.

"It looks great," her mother said decisively. "You must be sure to tell him thank you."

"I will," Hermione said automatically. She paused. "He invited me to his family's holiday party as well."

Her parents exchanged a look, putting on carefully-neutral expressions.

"And what do you think of that, Hermione?" her father asked.

"I think it's a bit much," Hermione admitted. "Him sending me a gift like this is already a pretty dramatic statement in the wizarding world. Going to meet his family would be a lot."

Her mother nodded approvingly.

"It's good that we're having our own private family party that night then, isn't it?" she said, her eyes sparkling. "It gives you the perfect excuse to decline his kind invitation."

"We are?" her dad asked. Her mother shot her father a look and kicked him lightly. Hermione giggled. "Right! Right." Her father cleared his throat. "Yes. Of course. Of course we are."

Hermione giggled as her mother began trying to tickle her father. Turning back to the tree, Hermione ripped open the last present. It turned out to be an envelope, which she ripped open as well. A coin fell from the envelope, and Hermione rapidly scanned the letter.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _This coin is a Portkey. If you are holding onto it at 11pm the night of December 31st, it will bring you to an outside location where I will be standing. Should you arrive at such place, you might learn something you have been wanting to._

 _You may assure your parents (if you tell them) that you will be returned by 2am._

 _Yours,_

 _Professor Snape_

Hermione clutched the letter to her chest and pocketed the coin, her smile threatening to break her face.


	36. New Year's Eve

Hermione begged off early on New Year's Eve, claiming a headache from too much eggnog. Her parents had been mildly concerned, but they let her retire early. Hermione knew they were likely to fall asleep on the couch just after 10pm themselves, so she wasn't worried about them noticing she was gone.

At quarter to 11, Hermione carefully dressed herself. She put on her new casual robes, stashing bluebell flames all over in the pockets, and put on her coat and new cape as well. She suspected learning to fly would be done outside, and it was freezing out.

She held herself perfectly still, wand in one hand, the coin in the other, and waited, mentally counting the down the last five minutes in her head.

At exactly 11 o'clock, there was a powerful jerk behind her navel, and Hermione was abruptly spinning through the air, spiraling through multicolored nothingness, until she abruptly crashed into the ground. Her stomach roiled, and Hermione fought to keep her supper down.

"Happy Christmas, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked up to see Professor Snape standing there, looking at her expectantly, a hand extended. Hermione smiled shakily and took his hand, pulling herself up.

"Happy Christmas, Professor."

Now that she was standing, Hermione shivered in the cold. They were outside, and they were on top of a cliff, it seemed. She could hear waves crashing below them, and the grass beneath her feet blew in the chilly winds.

Abruptly, there was a ball of light floating above them, illuminating the area in faint white light, but casting oddly-shaped shadows. Snape's eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and Hermione shivered.

"Flying, Miss Granger, is a very difficult practice," he told her quietly. "It is also not widely known. As far as I know, there is only one way that has been discovered, and it was discovered by the Dark Lord."

Hermione bit her lip. "Is it dark magic?"

Snape scoffed. "No." He paused. "But… it is _grey,_ one might say."

Hermione nodded slowly. She'd read about "grey" magic, the raw, elemental magic that did not have strict purpose. Using it was very hard, and generally, only Dark wizards and witches used it. It was the kind of power that fueled spells like _Fiendfyre_ , which summoned a cursed fire as if from Hell.

She shivered. She'd never done grey magic before.

"We are going to summon an air elemental," Snape told her. "Summoning is not something widely done anymore, and it is not to be spoken of to anyone else. Do you understand?"

"Very rare, not to be spoken of. Got it," Hermione said, nodding. "Summoning was covered in the book you loaned me. People consider it largely dark nowadays, don't they?"

Snape scowled. "Close-minded morons. Summoning isn't bad, just as it isn't good. It just is. It depends what you do with it, what your purpose is, that makes it light or dark. Come here."

He gestured, and Hermione walked to him, seeing that he'd scratched in a rough circle in the ground.

"We will summon an air elemental," he told her. "We will then bind it to you. This will give you the potential to fly. Your will will have to subdue and control the air spirit. This will give you mastery over the air."

" _Bind_ it to me?" Hermione's eyes went wide. "I- I don't want to- Professor, I don't want to _kill_ anything-!"

"An elemental, Miss Granger, is not _alive_ ," he told her, sprinkling something white and glowing around the circle. "It is a nature spirit. It alive in the same way a tree is alive, or a flower, or the grass. There is a spirit of sorts in it, but not a _soul_. There is no consciousness." Snape dusted his hands off, returning to her. "I understand the sentiment behind your objection – you feel as if you will kill something, doing this." He paused, and his eyes glinted in the darkness. "…And yet, you pick flowers without thought, do you not?"

Hermione felt uneasy. "But… Professor, this feels different…"

"Hermione." Snape gave her a sharp look. "Do you trust me?"

That was an easy one. "Yes, sir," she answered truthfully.

"Then trust me when I sat that this is not evil. You will not even 'kill' the air elemental. You are binding its power and nature to your own. It will 'live' and grow alongside you."

Hermione gnawed on her lip. "…I have to subdue it?"

"Even a spirit has a will, Hermione," he told her. "It is not strong, compared to a person, but it exists, though without aim, without consciousness. Once you subdue it, it will assimilate to your power."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

Snape gave her a pleased look, and began to explain how the ritual would work.

The ritual was incredibly simple, when it came down to it. There were moonstones to encourage the air elemental to emerge, and doing it at the moment of the New Year would help, when hopes and dreams were the freest, and people did not feel as tied down to the earth and reality.

Hermione moved to stand at the top point of the triangle within the circle. Snape straddled the triangle to stand on the two other points. The moonstone was in the center of the triangle. Just before midnight, Snape closed his eyes and began to chant, drawing patterns through the air with his hands.

Hermione did her best to stand still and remain firm and determined. Snape had assured her that he would do the actual summoning, but that the battle for control would be up to her and her alone.

He didn't say what would happen if the air elemental's spirit managed to be stronger and took over her own.

Gradually, a light began to manifest in the middle of the triangle. Hermione recognized it as a will-o'-the-wisp. Snape began chanting louder and louder, and abruptly, there was a crack of lightning across the sky, and the light disappeared – into _her_.

 _AAAAAAAHHHHHHhhhhhhhh!_

There was immediate, skull-crushing _pain_ , agonizing, and Hermione clutched her head as the screaming in her head went on and on. She could _feel_ the will-o'-the-wisp inside of her, and it wanted _out_. There was a strong foreign urge to jump off the cliff, to dance along the water's top, to _not_ stay here, to go out and _dance_. It was overwhelming, this presence without any words, and it was _demanding_ things of her, things that Hermione didn't want to do.

Hermione could feel wind rushing in her ears, and she felt like she was spinning around in a vortex. Her eyes were clamped closed, the wind tearing tears from them, and she grit her teeth hard, the physical pain grounding her.

 _I – am – **Hermione**._

Slowly, _slowly_ , she could feel herself forcing the spirit back. She was a _person_ , and she had a body, and she was standing _right there_ , and Professor Snape had faith in her. She was a witch, and she was not going to give in to some stupid glowing ball, and she would make the stupid glowing ball go _right there_ and then–

Abruptly, Hermione took in a huge breath of air, her eyes snapping open, and she nearly fell backward, but Snape was there to catch her and keep her upright.

"Well _done_ , Miss Granger." Snape's voice was soft, but there was an undercurrent of pride in his tone. "Breathe, now. Just breathe."

Hermione continued gasping for air, her head dizzy. She got the sense that she'd been hyperventilating when she was fighting against the air elemental – her chest and throat were heaving and rattling around in weird ways. She forced herself to calm down, taking slow, deep breaths, and her lungs relaxed.

"You were fighting that spirit for a long time, Miss Granger," Snape told her. "I was prepared to exorcise it from you the second it dominated you, but you did well."

Hermione looked up at his sideways. "Exorcise it?"

"Would you have preferred a mindless spirit have control of your body?" Snape smirked at her. "I didn't expect you to succeed. I expected it would take at least two more tries for you to have the strength of will to dominate it."

"I had more than one chance?" Hermione felt a flash of indignation, and Snape gave her an oily smile.

"If you knew you could try again, would you have fought as hard as you did?"

The anger faded as Hermione grudgingly acknowledged his point.

"So… it's inside of me, now?" Hermione asked, looking down at herself.

"It's _part_ of you," Snape corrected. "Reach down to your power. You should be able to feel it."

Reach down to her power?

Hermione bit her lip, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She tried to follow the feeling she felt in her arms just before levitating something, tracing it back through her arms until she felt _something_.

Her power felt like a liquid, almost, but like a large cauldron of energy, of just unbound potential. Hermione felt overwhelmed for a moment, just finding this part of herself. She carefully started to explore it, only to feel light, airy bits flowing around inside of it with her own energy. Her eyes snapped open and met Professor Snape's.

"I- I can feel it," she told him. Her eyes widened. "I can feel it!"

"It is this power, Miss Granger," Snape said, with a small smile, "that you must draw on in order to fly."

Hermione frowned. "How?"

"The air elemental inside of you already knows how to fly," Snape told her. "Seize hold of that part of yourself. It should be able to guide you. Then, it's a matter of mixing your own power to fuel the flight with the direction of the air elemental."

Hermione bit her lip and tried. She reached out internally for the new part of her, the airy part of her, and was surprised to feel it immediately rise to her command. Her unexpressed desire to fly was immediately seized upon, and she could feel herself lift to her tip-toes without really realizing it. Carefully, Hermione fed her power to the air elemental inside of her to help get her off the ground.

Immediately, it was too much – she'd lurched into the air maybe a foot, and crashed back down to the ground a moment later. Snape smirked at her and helped her to her feet, eyes gleaming.

"You have more potential than I thought," he told her. "Practice this where no one can see. And remember-"

"Tell no one," Hermione said, nodding. "I won't."

"There will be _dire_ consequences if you do."

Hermione bit her lip, before throwing her arms around Snape in an impromptu hug. Snape stumbled backward, before awkwardly patting her head.

"Thank you _so much_ , Professor!" Hermione told him. "This is… I'll figure it out! I'll make you proud – really, I will!"

Snape's expression softened, and he patted her head again, gently.

"Miss Granger, you are already single-handedly assuring that Slytherin will win the House Cup with all the points you earn, and you are doing so in the face of immense prejudice and discrimination. You are at the top of your class in every subject. You are more powerful than any first-year has a right to be, and you have just achieved something that most people will never be able to do."

He tipped her chin up to look at him, and his eyes met hers.

"Hermione," he said quietly, "I am already proud of you."

Her parents had always told her that they were proud of her. They had always been very supportive. A _teacher_ , though – her teachers had always tolerated her questions and grudgingly helped her in her advanced studies. It was something new to have a _teacher_ tell her they were proud of her – especially her Head of House, who she respected so highly (and feared just a little).

Hermione felt her eyes start to swim, to her mortification, with the wave of strong emotion that had come at his words. She blinked rapidly, determined to make the tears go away.

"Thank you, sir," she said, sniffing slightly as she stepped back. She smiled up at him. "This has been the greatest Christmas present ever."

Snape scoffed at that. "I doubt it. I see your new cape," he said eyeing her sideways. "You'll cause drama, showing up with that in the new semester."

Hermione grinned and flounced with it. "I know."

"Thank you for your gift, as well," he said. "It is more appreciated than you know."

Hermione had given him black Muggle sweaters to wear under his robes, as well as dark long johns. She'd explained about the chill of the dungeon in her note to him, and she knew he'd appreciate something practical, pureblood gift-giving rules be damned.

"Happy New Year, sir," she told him, smiling up at him as she withdrew the coin he'd given her.

He took the coin from her and tapped his wand to it, before handing it back.

"Happy New Year, Hermione," he returned, before surprising her by kissing her forehead. "Be careful."

A moment later, Hermione was sucked by her navel into a whirlwind storm once again, landing back in her room a minute later, unsteady on her feet. This time, she didn't feel as sick, and she hadn't crashed to the ground, either.

As Hermione undressed for bed, she gave her tummy a look in the mirror. She wondered if the air elemental she'd joined with had something to do with it.

Deep inside of her, she could feel something glow.


	37. Back to School

"Hermione!"

Hermione was greeted upon her return to King's Cross by Neville hurrying towards her, beaming. Hermione returned his smile.

"Neville. Did you have a happy Christmas?" she asked.

"Look!"

He thrust a small box toward her, which held three small plants. He looked at her for approval, grinning.

"I'm growing them," he told her proudly. "They're doing well, even in the winter, and I'm excited to see what will happen to them, being around so much magic now! I read some about them – the aloe one is supposed to be what Muggles use to cure burns. I wonder if it'll be even better with magic infused in it, but we'll have to see."

She followed him onto the train as he told her more about his plants. To her surprise, they were joined by Daphne and Blaise, just as the train started to lurch away. Neville's eyes went wide, and Hermione hid her laugh. Daphne was all done up, hair curled and pinned with makeup and all, and she looked _very_ pretty. Daphne was looking directly at Neville, a smile growing on her face.

"Hermione," Daphne purred. "You've never introduced me to your friend."

Hermione's eyes went wide. Daphne presuming that Hermione had the status to introduce a peer to another peer was quite the compliment, in pureblood society. Though caught off-guard, Hermione smoothly stood, mentally thanking the snooty etiquette guide she had read.

"Neville, may I present my dear friend Miss Daphne Greengrass?" Hermione said, gesturing. "Daphne, this is Neville Longbottom."

"A pleasure," Daphne said, fluttering her eyelashes at Neville.

Neville, to his credit, managed to kiss the back of Daphne's hand, though he went red.

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Greengrass," he managed to get out, and Daphne beamed at him.

"Just Daphne is fine. What are you working on?"

Neville relaxed in the face of a new audience and began talking to Daphne animatedly about Herbology. Daphne seemed to be keeping up, and she kept asking questions, though she fluttered her eyelashes every time she did so. Rolling her eyes and smiling, Hermione sat down and turned to Blaise, who looked just as amused as she.

"He's Heir to a Noble House," Blaise said quietly, smirking. "I suspect Daphne got a lecture about doing her duties to her House over the break, and how she needs to start attracting favorable matches."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "I'm glad I avoided that one, then. I had a good Christmas, free of pressures like that. How was your holiday?"

"It was excellent." Blaise grinned at her. "Did you like your gift?"

"I… didn't understand it, to be honest," Hermione admitted. Blaise laughed.

"I suspected as much." His eyes gleamed. "Do you have it still?"

Obligingly, Hermione opened her trunk, making the compartment quite cramped for a moment while she searched through her things and withdrew it, quickly putting everything else away. She sat down with it on her lap.

"You go first," he told her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and moved a while pawn forward.

To her astonishment, a long moment later, one of the black pawns moved forward as well. Her eyes dashed up to meet his, and he grinned, withdrawing another chess board of his own.

"They're linked," he told her. "When you make a move on your board, it shows up on mine, and when I move on mine, it shows up on yours."

Hermione stared. She moved another pawn forward, and it moved on Blaise's. Blaise's returning capture was echoed on her own board, and Hermione couldn't suppress a noise of excitement.

"I got a shrinking charm applied to them," Blaise told her, "so you can keep this one small on your lap and play Weasley. If you echo the moves I make against you against him, it'll _look_ like you're playing him, but _I'll_ actually be playing him."

Hermione was grinning so hard her face hurt.

"I could hug you right now, Blaise," she told him, and he laughed.

"Save that for when we're in private," he told her, winking, and Hermione laughed. He put his chessboard away. "Now, anyway – explain to me the rules with this game with all the rocks?"

* * *

The evening of the return from Christmas break was before term officially started. Everyone had spent the afternoon settling back into their dorms and chatting about their Christmas gifts. The few people who had stayed at the school over the break were in their uniforms, but most of the students were out of uniform in casual robes, mostly black.

When a second-year boy ran inside, announcing that there was a snowball fight outside, and that the Slytherins needed help, the first years all ran from their common room to their dorms, hurrying to put on their cloaks and gloves. Hermione paused at her wardrobe, immediately seeing the opportunity, and as a smile spread across her face, she wondered just who had _started_ this intra-house snowball fight.

She was only a moment after the rest of the Slytherins out the door, and they immediately dove behind the scanty cover that a few third years had managed. It seemed like Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been already fighting for a while, judging from their battlements, and that Hufflepuff and Slytherin had unexpectedly been drawn into the fight.

The Slytherin snow fort was awful – just a giant lump of snow attached to a tree trunk to duck behind. Did wizards not know how to have a proper snowball fight?

Hermione stood from her place, looking around, and began snapping out orders.

"Pansy, Goyle, start rolling a giant snowball like you're making a snowman. Daphne, Crabbe, do the same on the other side. And Tracey, Millie, make a third. Get them back here as quick as you can. Theo, can you make snowballs?

Theo grinned and set about making a stockpile of snowballs. Tracey, Millie, Daphne, Crabbe, and Goyle immediately obeyed her orders, starting to push snow around, and, with a scowl shot her way, even Pansy joined in, helping to keep Goyle's snow pile from getting too messy or not round. Hermione was surprised to see Pansy outside participating at all, actually. She supposed Pansy might have just been swept up in the excitement by the others.

Some of the third years caught on, seeing the idea behind Hermione's commands. One of the third years echoed her orders, and soon, there were several large snowballs around the original fortification. At Hermione's instruction, they were ordered next to each other, loose snow packed between them. Hermione took the next set and levitated them on top of the original set, stacking them fairly high, before giving the order to secure them with more snow and carve out merlons atop the snow, telling others to bring back yet _more_ giant snowballs to make the sides of the fort.

Having done that, Hermione slumped down against the snow embankment, dizzy. A third year came over, looking down at her, but he looked impressed.

"That was a _lot_ of snow you levitated," he said, crouching down. "Snow isn't light."

"I'm well aware," Hermione panted. "Hence, the exhaustion."

She gestured to herself, and the boy laughed.

"You're… what, a 2nd year?" Hermione shook her head, and the boy's eyes widened. "You're a 1st year? Nice. That's impressive magic."

"Do you know a spell to carve a brick pattern into the wall?" Hermione asked him, changing the topic. "The more intimidating our snow fort looks, the better."

The boy grinned and hauled her to her feet. Hermione slipped a little, before stabilizing.

"I don't, but I know who will," he told her. "I'm Adrian Pucey, by the way."

"Hermione Granger," she told him, and he nodded and ran away.

Hermione took a few deep breaths and analyzed the situation. The Slytherin fort was directly across from the Gryffindor fort, which seemed to be a very large heap of snow that they ducked behind. To their right was the Ravenclaw fort, which was a large wall of snow built between two trees. It left them vulnerable to attacks from the side but provided a fairly good defense from the front. The Hufflepuffs were a distance away on their left, and they didn't have much of a fort yet – they seemed to try to be expanding off a snowman that they were currently ducking behind. Most of them didn't seem to care and were laughing and hurling snowballs willy-nilly, which made Hermione grin.

Turning inward, Hermione tried to feel her power reserves to see if she'd exhausted herself. To her surprise, she hadn't used nearly as much power as she thought she had – either that, or it was regenerating quickly. She'd never checked to see if power came back quickly – she'd always just gone to sleep after draining herself.

The air elemental that was part of her was there too, dancing. Hermione could feel it playing in the power inside of her. She looked at the Gryffindors, who were launching a direct assault against the Slytherins, taking advantage of their preoccupation with defense, and an idea occurred. She hadn't had much luck with this spell yet (it was a 3rd year spell), but maybe this time…

She whipped her wand towards the snow in the middle of the field before them, between her and the Gryffindors. _"Ventus!"_

Immediately, the spell was different. Instead of a weak gust of wind, there was a sense of _glee_ running through her and escaping through her wand, and a gale of wind blew up, blowing the loose snow up in front of the Gryffindors' faces in a localized blizzard. The Gryffindors yelled and ran back, hiding behind their embankment or fleeing in the face of the snow, and Hermione laughed aloud, the thrill of the spell coursing through her.

Gradually she ended the spell, feeling for her magic as she did. The air elemental inside her was dancing with joy, and she could almost _feel_ it spinning her magic out of her into the charm. As she consciously pulled back her energy, as if lowering something she was levitating, the air elemental sent out less and less.

When the spell was finished, Hermione looked upon her work and burst out laughing. The Gryffindors were all snow-encrusted and looked like abominable snowmen. The Weasley twins let out a roar and immediately unleashed a torrent of snowballs at her, and she shrieked and ducked down behind the Slytherin snow castle, still laughing.

Blaise was laughing next to her, grinning as he quickly made more snowballs. It seemed that the Slytherin Chasers were the ones throwing them – they had the best aim of the group.

"That was incredible!" he told her. "I've never seen someone do that before!"

"That was impressive magic," Pucey told her, emerging from the side of the rapidly-growing fort. "I didn't think _Ventus_ could do that."

He grinned at her, and she grinned back, pleased, before remembering herself and standing up again, taking evaluation of the fort.

"We need taller walls on the sides," she directed Crabbe and Goyle, who were returning with more snowballs. "Stack them on top of each other and join them to the rest of the fort. Who's been shaving the sides?"

"Me." Draco Malfoy emerged from seemingly nowhere, catching Hermione off-guard.

"Ah – good. Let's get these side walls done as quick as we can. I've got an idea for solidifying it, but it'd be better if we have a solid three walls before we try it."

"Got it." Draco nodded at her and turned to do just that.

"Oi, Granger!"

Distracted, Hermione looked to the side. She ducked to dodge a snowball and stood again, only to see Anthony Goldstein standing at the side of the Ravenclaw encampment, grinning. Even from this distance, she could see the mischievous spark in his eyes.

Hermione smirked.

She knew what he was about.

"Goldstein," Hermione returned. She smirked widely. "Nice fort."

It was a lie. The Ravenclaws' wall was thicker now, with slits to throw through, but it was still just a wall.

Anthony grinned at the barb.

"Nice cape," he tossed back. "Give us a twirl?"

Laughing, Hermione twirled, her cape spinning out from her slightly.

"It's very warm," she said, smiling.

"I'd say wearing that's almost cheating," Anthony accused playfully, his voice loud enough to carry. "It's got an Impervius Charm woven into it. Can the snow even touch you?"

Hermione laughed. "If it can't, it's your fault!"

She threw a snowball at him, and Anthony laughed and ducked, and the fight was back on.

Hermione quickly ducked back behind the wall of snow that was quickly becoming a solid fortification as the Ravenclaws turned their assault toward the Slytherins. Her eyes scanned around for the oldest boys she could find. She settled for Adrian and his friend, who were carving out the top of the left side of the fort.

"I have an idea," she said. "We need to go outside the fort for it to work, but it'll be great if we can do it."

She quickly explained her thought. Adrian's smile grew, while his friend looked thoughtful.

"We'll need a guard to protect us while we do it," he said.

"Not a problem," Adrian said promptly. He turned. "Flint!"

A large boy bounded over, panting. He looked much older than most of the students playing.

"What?" he demanded.

"We need you to do a single-man assault with the snow outside the fort as we slowly go across the front and freeze it to solid ice," Adrian told him. "Do you think you can do that?"

Marcus gave him a look, before grinning. It was a frightening grin, with pointed teeth and a malicious-looking snaggletooth – a grin her parents would have had conniptions at.

"Let's do it," he said. "It's only snow."

It was with great delicacy that they began their mission, starting on the Hufflepuff side of the fort, where the smallest threat was present. The boy Hermione didn't know would cast a water spell, followed nearly immediately by Adrian casting a freezing spell, and the snow on the outside of the fort would freeze to ice. Hermione stood behind them, holding her cape up as a shield, while Marcus roared in front of them, loosing snowballs at anyone that targeted them.

They fell into a rhythm quickly, cast-freeze, cast-freeze. Hermione was pleased to see that the brick pattern Draco had set into the fort froze into it as well, making the fort even more impressive. It looked like an actual _fort._

The Gryffindor side was challenging, and Marcus never stopped hurling snowballs the entire time, calling for backup from the fort several times. They made it across, though, and finished up on the Ravenclaw side, where the Ravenclaws immediately realized what they were doing.

"Why bother?" Terry Boot yelled out to her, as Hermione was dusting herself off. "If you keep it made of snow, it only gets stronger as more snowballs hit it."

Hermione tossed her hair, though it was admittedly very damp at this point.

"Slytherins take pride in appearance," she told them with a smirk. "Did you think we'd be satisfied with anything less than a castle?"

With the fort complete, all the Slytherins were able to focus on making snowballs and throwing them. Some of the older students began jinxing theirs to turn to ice and hurled them at the others' forts, deliberately trying to crack and weaken them.

Hermione stood in the back, trying to catch her breath from all the excitement. She patted her flushed cheeks with her cold gloved hands, marveling that it was an odd experience to feel so cold and yet so hot at the very same time.

As she turned to return to the battle, she paused, her gaze catching Draco's.

He was staring at her, his face a mask of stone.

Hermione blinked, before turning, only to meet Blaise's considering gaze and Theo's intense one. As she glanced around, Pansy, Tracey, and Daphne were all casting her looks as well.

Hermione bit her lip and hid her discomfort, quickly returning to helping the others demolish the Gryffindor fort.


	38. Dinner Gossip

After a shower, Hermione joined the other Slytherins at dinner, where there was a cheerful discussion of the snowball fight, the superiority of the Slytherin fort over the other Houses', and gifts people had gotten over Yule. The boys of the house were praising the ingenuity of freezing the fort to ice and shaping it like a castle, while the many of the girls were sniffing and talking about their presents instead.

The first years were discussing their gifts, having all been present for the snowball fight.

"I got small things from everyone, but nothing special," Tracey said with a sigh. "Anyone get anything… exciting?"

"Greg Goyle sent me a scarf," Millicent admitted. "I haven't decided whether not to wear it yet."

"That'd be a terrible slight if you didn't wear it at least _once_ ," Pansy said snidely.

Millie made a face. "I know."

"Cassius sent me a cloak," Daphne said smugly. "It's a beautiful emerald green. The note said it reminded him of my eyes."

The girls all murmured appreciatively, Tracey letting out a whistle.

"Cassius Warrington?" Tracey asked. "That good-looking guy in 3rd year?"

"Exactly."

" _I'm_ not surprised," Blaise Zabini cut in. "Christmas is the first chance to offer any gifts of intent. You're a catch, Greengrass – I'm surprised you didn't get _more_ gifts of courting intent."

Daphne colored prettily, while Pansy sneered.

"And did _you_ get any gifts of courting intent?" she snarked.

There was a collective "oooooo" at the jab, but Blaise just gave her a grin.

"If I had, it'd be more than you got, wouldn't it?" he smirked.

Pansy's face turned murderous, and Tracey quickly turned to Hermione.

"What about you?" Tracey said, a glint in her eye. "Anything _special?_ "

Hermione considered for a moment, somewhat uncomfortable.

"Oh! Ron didn't get me anything," Hermione finally said, smirking.

Tracey blinked. "And that's… _good_? That's a terrible slight." She looked uneasy. "Aren't you supposed to be his friend?"

"Oh, I got _him_ a gift – a really nice one, too," Hermione told her. "He'll look ungrateful and selfish, not giving me something when I gave him something so nice. It's a better gift than any lame present he would actually give me, believe me."

"I don't know how much Gryffindor keeps with formal gift-giving traditions, but that will shame him amongst those of us who know better," Daphne said. "Good. Downfall to Weasley."

She said it so casually, just 'downfall to Weasley', that Hermione had to struggle not to laugh.

"I got a full potions set," Theo said, offering Hermione a smirk. "A complete one, not a student kit. It's really nice."

Hermione's eyes lit. "With all the standard ingredients?"

"And then some." He grinned.

"More importantly, however, is Hermione's _other_ gift business," Daphne said, giving Hermione a sly grin. "I understand Anthony Goldstein sent you a cape?"

Hermione could sense the air at the table change. She was careful to keep her face carefree and easy, though she felt uncomfortable. Being the center of attention in _this_ way... she wasn't used to this.

"He did," she said. "He also sent an invitation to his family's formal Christmas party. It coincided with my own family's party, however, so I was forced to decline."

Daphne exchanged a look with Theo, and Theo whistled.

"Someone's moving fast," Theo commented, eyes wide. "We're in _first year_."

"Daphne got a cloak from Warrington," Hermione pointed out. "It's not like I'm the only one."

"Yes, but…" Theo trailed off, looking uneasy. "Daphne's… the Greengrass name is very well-known. It's practically expected she'd get gifts of intent before she'd debuted just as a way to curry favor with her house. It's not quite the same."

" _I_ certainly didn't get an invitation to his house, either," Daphne cut in.

"Goldstein's trying desperately to do anything that might elevate his house," Pansy said, adding herself back to the conversation. She wrinkled her nose. "They're fairly well regarded, but gold and a famous grandmother only gets you so far."

"That shows guts, to gamble on an unknown like you," Tracey said, grinning at Hermione. "He must really like you."

"Or it's a gesture to show that he's openly looking for matches," Pansy sniped. "He's one generation from being considered a pureblood again, if he marries _pure_. Hermione would… well…"

She trailed off, sniffing, and Hermione's eyes hardened.

"A New Blood is the purest type of pureblood there is, gifted by Magic itself," Hermione said, fighting to keep her voice even. "If you can't see that, you're an idiot. But you'll see – we'll all see whose magic wins out in the end."

She rose and swept over to the Gryffindor table, taking deep breaths. She left the Slytherins behind her, knowing some of them were watching her. She stored Pansy's remark away in her mind – she'd have to retaliate somehow. She couldn't just let the insult stand.

"Harry," she said, pasting a cheerful smile onto her face. "Happy Christmas! How was it for you?"

Harry smiled genuinely at her. "Hermione! Thanks for the frogs. I had a good Christmas, actually. Quite a few presents more than I expected, though."

Hermione laughed. "You've made quite a few friends, Harry. Surely it wasn't _that_ surprising."

"Maybe." Harry grinned at her, and Hermione smiled.

"Thanks for the Sugar Quills," she told him. "How was Christmas at the castle?"

Hermione was careful to stay focused on Harry, who was telling her all about the small Christmas dinner there had been, sitting with the teachers and pulling Christmas crackers. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see Ron getting steadily more and more red, looking deeper and deeper into his dinner and his cup. When Harry started telling her about the other gifts he'd gotten, Ron looked more and more uncomfortable.

"Ron," Neville said, looking at him. "What'd you get Hermione? I know Harry got her sugar quills. I saw that classic Cannons photobook she got you – it's really nice. What'd you give her?"

Hermione mentally thanked the stars for a friend like Neville Longbottom.

Ron muttered something unintelligible, sinking deeper into his dinner, and Neville gave him a confused look, before looking to Hermione. He nodded to Ron and shrugged, a confused expression on his face, and Hermine shrugged back at him. Neville rolled his eyes.

"What did he get you, Hermione?" Neville asked. "I'm hoping no one beat my raven quills."

Hermione laughed.

"The quills are wonderful," she said, smiling. "Thank you again for them."

Neville grinned.

"You're welcome," he said. "So… Ron?" he prompted. "What'd he give you?"

Ron sank further into his chair, and Hermione allowed an uncomfortable expression to come onto her face as she looked away, silently demurring. An incredulous expression came across Neville's face, and a shocked one on Harry's.

"He… he didn't give you anything?" Neville said. His tone was quiet, almost horrified.

Hermione visibly bit her lip and looked away.

"Ron!" Harry chastised. "You didn't give Hermione anything? Not even one of your mom's sweaters?"

" _Definitely_ _not_ a sweater," Ron mumbled into his food, glaring around at the table.

"You didn't give Hermione a gift for Yule?" Neville said sharply. "You rebuffed her in that way? After all she's done for you?"

Ron looked deeply uncomfortable.

"It's just a present," he muttered. "I didn't know what to get a girl."

"Did you know what to get a _friend?_ " Neville demanded. He sounded angry, and Hermione was taken aback by his ire. "You just decided instead of asking for help, that you would get her _nothing?_ "

Harry was looking somewhat taken aback by this turn of events as well – Neville was usually a quiet and friendly person. It was almost frightening to see him so angry. Seamus and Dean were listening in now too, as were the Weasley twins.

"I can't believe you just slighted her like that," Neville said, shaking his head. "And she went to the trouble to give you something so nice-! And you gave her nothing."

"It's not like Hermione cares about slighting and gift rules," Ron retorted. "It's not such a big deal that you're making it."

"Not a big deal-? Ron, she's in _Slytherin._ She's a _New Blood_ , which is the most pure of purebloods _ever_. Of _course_ she follows the guidelines of gift-giving!"

Neville looked really angry now, and Hermione felt uncomfortable. She had figured she'd need to pretend to be uncomfortable and hurt by Ron's rebuff; it'd never occurred to her that someone else might be angry on her behalf.

"I can't believe you," Neville said angrily. He slammed his hands on the table, making Ron jump, and he stood up. He came over to Hermione, bowed slightly, and extended his arm to her.

"If I might have the privilege of escorting you back to your common room, Miss Granger?" he asked, his back ramrod straight.

Hermione could practically feel people's stares on her back.

Hermione recognized what he was doing – he was solidifying his support of her being a woman of quality or of pure blood, a woman to be respected, in the face of Ron's obvious insult. Even recognizing his gesture, though, it felt _odd_ , but kind of nice, in a way.

Hermione nodded silently and got to her feet, taking Neville's arm.

They swept from the hall with their heads held high. Hermione was quietly impressed with Neville's posture and confidence. She'd never seen him act in such a noble way before.

After the doors to the Great Hall closed behind them, Neville slumped, turning to Hermione with anxious eyes.

"I am so, _so_ sorry for Ron, Hermione!" Neville said, wringing his hands. "I don't- Ron's an idiot. He still thinks of you as a Muggle-born, and doesn't think things through, and he probably legitimately didn't think that you were expecting the gift of a friend from him. I am so, _so_ sorry. But please know that- Harry and I, we respect you and value you, and Ron- Ron's just an idiot, Hermione, and he probably still considers you a friend-"

"Neville," Hermione said gently, interrupting. "It's okay."

Neville looked up at her. "It is?"

"It is," Hermione confirmed. "Ron's behavior is no reflection on you or Harry. I am happy to call you friends. Ron's folly is his own."

Neville nodded slowly, straightening his back, before starting down the corridor with her once more. It was an odd walk; Neville was clearly trying to lead her, but he didn't know where he was going. Hermione had to nudge him and crowd his feet with her own to guide him in the direction of the correct dungeon.

"I don't know what his issue is," Neville confessed, looking at his feet. "I mean… it's not that Muggle-borns aren't as powerful as purebloods, or anything like that. I'm no blood purist. But you're in the top of the class, and crazy powerful. If you say it's because you've been touched by Magic, I mean, it makes _sense…_ "

Hermione had the odd feeling of realizing that Neville _believed_ her. He _believed_ she was New Blood, that she had been directly touched by Magic. Hermione didn't remember ever telling Neville that, so he would have had to have heard the rumor on the grapevine from someone else, but he _believed_ it, and he was treating her how a pureblood princess would be treated in a formal situation because of it.

It felt… different.

Hermione bit her lip. She often thought back to meeting the blonde girl, Luna, in the bookstore, when she uttered her prophecy. She thought back to the Sorting Hat, and what it had whispered into her mind. Hermione didn't even know if New Blood was actually a _thing_. It felt like Hermione was making it up and defining it as she went along, and it was disconcerting to realize that someone _believed_ what so often felt like lies.

"It's okay, Neville," Hermione said gently. She stopped turning to him. "Thank you for walking me back to the common room."

Neville blinked and looked around. They were in an empty dungeon hallway. Hermione gave him a patient look as he realized that the Slytherin common room entrance must be hidden, and he hurriedly bobbed her a short bow.

"Ah- yes. Have a good evening, Hermione," he said.

"The same to you," Hermione said, nodding. "Thank you for saving me in there."

Neville puffed up at her thanks, and he looked proud as he strode back out of the hallway.

Hermione waited until he was firmly out of sight before going deeper into the dungeons, taking two more turns, and quietly murmuring the password to the common room and going in. The Ravenclaws might not mind visitors, and everyone knew that the Gryffindor House was behind the portrait of the Fat Lady on the 7th floor, but the Slytherins weren't about to advertise where they resided – especially not with the vitriol against them.

Hermione was surprised to see Draco inside, standing in the middle of an empty common room.

"Draco," she said, startled. "I thought you were at dinner."

Draco's eyes met hers. The silver seemed like liquid.

"Goldstein gave you a cape," he said.

Hermione froze. Understanding flooded Hermione's mind, and she nodded, careful not to betray anything.

"He did," she said steadily.

His gaze bore into hers.

"You wore it," he said. "In public."

"It was a gift of favor," Hermione said carefully. "To rebuff such a gift without cause would be an insult to his family and earn me a foe. I have no reason to quarrel with the Goldstein family, so I showed my gratitude."

Draco considered this, nodding slowly.

"And you wore it as soon as you could, so people would see," he said, watching her. "Getting the acknowledgement out of the way."

Hermione didn't say anything while Draco thought. His eyes abruptly snapped back to hers, sharpening.

"You're wearing your scarf," he said. "And the pin."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She _was_ wearing them. The scarf was incredibly soft, and it helped keep her neck and torso warm in the cold of the dungeons. She'd worn it over her dress like a wrap or stole, and it was nice to have. Most of her classmates had similar scarves (though not made of cashmere), so no one had commented.

The pin was harder to excuse. She… she had just _wanted_ to, really. It was so pretty, and why not? Why shouldn't she wear such a pin?

"I am," Hermione said finally. She looked up at him. "And?"

Draco's eyes seemed molten.

"The dragon you gave me is exquisite," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "Where did you get it?"

Hermione relaxed slightly, smiling.

"I can't tell you that, now, can I?" she said. "Then you'd be able to find the store and get whatever you wanted from it, and I'd have nothing left to send you as gifts."

Draco's lips twitched, and he smirked.

"I _have_ been told I am hard to buy for," he drawled, and Hermione laughed.

"I'm glad you like it," she said, impish. "I tried hard to find the perfect thing."

Draco looked surprised. "You did?"

"Well, of course," she said, shrugging. "I couldn't just get you _anything._ It had to be… _special,_ somehow."

Draco took a half-step closer to her. His eyes met hers again, and Hermione swallowed.

"Why?" he murmured. "Why did mine have to be special?"

His voice was lower, and there was something breathier about it. Hermione shivered.

"I don't know," she challenged him, tilting up her chin. "Why was mine in an empty jewelry box?"

Draco reared back, his eyes ablaze. He looked angry for a moment, before grinding his teeth and calming down.

"You know why," he grit out.

"I don't," Hermione said flatly. "To send an empty jewelry box could mean you don't think I'm worthy of ever receiving such things, with the House regalia a cruel jeer to point out where else I don't belong."

Draco looked struck, then upset.

"You're not that… you _know_ that isn't it, Hermione," he said. "You _know_ that I…"

He looked like he was doing his best to hide his emotions. Hermione swallowed her own.

"Or…" she said carefully.

"Or?" he prompted, a ghost of hope on his face.

"Or, it could mean you _wanted_ to send jewelry, but did not for some reason," she said. "Your gifts… though perfectly acceptable for acquaintances, they're nicer than the standard uniform wear, and…" She swallowed again.

"And?"

"And they're clothing and jewelry, of sorts," she said carefully. She looked up at him. "Clothing and jewelry that I could wear, and no one would know it was a favor, if it was."

Draco's eyes darkened.

"Will you wear it, Hermione?"

"Of course," Hermione said immediately. "The scarf is incredibly soft and warm, and I really like it."

Draco rolled his eyes, a faint smirk on his lips.

"Always the practical one," he murmured. "And the pin…?"

Hermione hesitated. The pin was undeniably special, and something no one else had. And, being that finely wrought, it _had_ to count as jewelry, even if it was not.

"Perhaps," Hermione murmured back, biting her lip. "Perhaps I will."

Draco's face slowly softened, relaxing in its intensity. He gave her a smile, a real, brilliant smile, and Hermione was caught off-guard by how happy and how handsome he looked in that moment.

"Good," he said. "Good…"

He trailed off, looking like he was going to say something more, but the common room door opened, the rest of their house spilling in after dinner.

The babble of other students pushed them apart and separated them, and Hermione let herself be carried away from him. Draco's eyes were still fixed on hers, and Hermione wasn't quite sure how that made her feel.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see Blaise grinning at her.

"You want to test out those chess boards?" he asked her. "After that scene tonight, I figure you'll want to cream Weasley as soon as you can."

With a last glance back at Draco, Hermione turned to Blaise and nodded, moving toward the chairs and small table by the entrance that they usually claimed. He smirked.

"That was quite the scene back there," he told her. "You should have seen it. The one Gryffindor girl, Lavender Brown, she just about read Weasley the riot act. He'll be ostracized within his house for a while, now, even with all the half-bloods and whatnot not knowing the gift-giving traditions."

"Good," Hermione said. She sniffed. "He deserves it."

"He does. Foe to House Slytherin, and all that," Blaise said casually, shooting her a grin. He withdrew his tiny chess set from a pocket and enlarged it, and Hermione pulled hers from a pocket within her cloak. "Ready to lose?"

"I suppose," Hermione sighed. She smirked. "Though, hopefully for the last time, now."

Blaise grinned, and they set about playing an odd game of chess, Hermione doing her best to hide her moves on the small chess set on her lap, while Blaise played on his. It was odd and felt weird, but it was definitely _working_ – the sets stayed connected, even when small.

"So when do you want to do this?" Blaise said, moving his king. "It'll have to be a night when we're both free."

"Soon," Hermione said, picturing the giant chessboard that lay deep beneath the school. "As soon as we can."


	39. The Obstacle Course

With Blaise helping her, Hermione knew she couldn't return to her usual habit of attempting the 3rd floor corridor during Quidditch – it would be immediately apparent she was up to something that wasn't beating Ron in chess. She had to choose an evening when she didn't think the teachers would be paying much attention to her.

Hermione picked her day with care. Attempting the obstacle course had begun feeling like running the gauntlet somewhere along the way.

She chose a Tuesday night. First year Slytherins had Astronomy that night, so if the teachers saw her lurking around, they'd be more apt to excuse her, though she'd still have to avoid Filch. With a bit of help from Neville, she'd procured catnip and dropped it on the first floor, near the stairs to the kitchens. Hopefully, that would keep Mrs. Norris (and Filch) occupied for a while, but she'd need to be careful anyway.

She was lucky – no one was around, and she slipped once again into the forbidden 3rd floor corridor, immediately activating the music wand. Fluffy began to slump, and stark horror hit Hermione's mind.

He was directly over the trap door.

Options flew across her mind. She could try to levitate him off the trap door – she could try again later – she could stop the wand –

She didn't have much time. Holding her wand in her right hand, and taking the music wand in her left, she whispered a word.

Slowly, the music faded into silence, echoing about in the large chamber.

Hermione stood still at the far side of the chamber, watching.

Fluffy sniffed and shook all three heads, as if clearing them, before sniffing deeply, turning to face her, and beginning to growl.

Shivers raced up Hermione's spine, and she crouched low to the ground.

With a bark, Fluffy leapt at her, covering the distance of the room in one bound. Hermione screamed and threw herself to the left, narrowly dodging one of the heads. The end of her robes got caught in his mouth and tore, and Hermione frantically activated the music wand as she ran to the other side of the room.

Almost immediately, there was a soft whine, and Hermione turned, ready, to see the beast slowly slumping to the ground once again. When there was the soft 'thump' of his body hitting the floor, Hermione finally relaxed, before angrily stalking over and snatching the piece of fabric from her robes from his mouth.

"Stupid dog," she muttered, pocketing it as she opened the trap door.

Angry, Hermione looked down into the darkness. She really didn't feel like using her rope this time, though she'd brought it. It just took so long, and the Devil's Snare was enough to cushion her at the bottom, and so long as she kept her wand firmly in her hand, she'd be fine.

Unless they had changed the obstacle…

Hermione snorted. If they had started changing obstacles now, the entire challenge would be monumentally unfair.

Chalking it up to being around Harry and his cheerful impulsivity too much, she leapt into the darkness, unafraid.

The fall and landing on the Devil's Snare wasn't nearly as bad as she'd thought, and Hermione managed to burn her way through and fall to the ground with a satisfactory crash quickly, though she was wincing. She'd probably see a bruise on her leg the next day for that one.

Picking Flitwick's lock went quicker this time, now that she'd had a bit of experience with it, but it still took a while. Hermione mentally crossed her fingers, hoping Blaise would chalk up the delay to making necessary small talk with the Gryffindors before starting a chess game.

Finally, the last tumbler clicked, and Hermione stumbled into the next room.

The large chess board with tall, faceless pieces was just as intimidating as it was last time. There were sconces burning on the walls, throwing shadows into the corners of the room, and Hermione tried to take deep, calming breaths. She could feel her heart racing a mile a minute.

Biting her lip, Hermione stepped forward.

Figuring she'd try the obvious just to be sure, she tried to walk across the board, only to have the pawns block her way with large, intimidating spears. With a sigh, Hermione retreated to the black side of the board, considering, before tapping the black king. The faceless king turned toward her, and Hermione held out her hand expectantly.

"I want to play king," she informed the large block of stone.

After a long moment, the black king handed her a heavy obsidian crown that glinted in the torchlight and retreated to the side of the board.

Hermione settled the heavy crown onto her head, though it didn't fit well and kept slipping. With a groan, she pulled her hair up into a high ponytail to help stabilize it. If she had to do this again, she'd be sure to bring hair clips to attach the damn thing to her head – she didn't intend on dropping it and forfeiting the match by accident.

When she was done fussing with the crown, she realized that white had moved. One of its pawns had slid across the board. Hermione pulled the small chess board from her bag, grateful the pieces stuck to the board, and moved the same white pawn on her own set.

The three minutes she waited before a black pawn moved in response had her worriedly scanning the room for a chess clock. She breathed a sigh of relief, before ordering the same black pawn forward on the giant game.

Chess took a while like this, but Hermione was happily in no hurry. The beginning moves claimed territory on the board, and when a white knight took a black pawn, smashing it into large chunks of stone and a cloud of rock dust, Hermione was glad she'd had the foresight to play as the king. The king was never captured – only knocked over by its own color player at the end, if it lost.

As the game went on, Hermione got more nervous. As far she could tell, the game was close. Each color had lost a similar number of pieces, and the white queen was moving around with nearly terrifying speed as it demolished black's pawns.

Black moved on her small chessboard, and there was a commotion, and Hermione saw that a pawn had grown into another black queen, giving her two.

Hermione grinned, and made the same order.

The promotion of the pawn made a _spectacle_. The black statue grew and warped before her eyes, like the fast-forwarded growth of a flower, and the queen the pawn made looked different than the other queen, somehow. Almost… younger?

Hermione shook her head at her silliness at thinking one faceless statue looked younger than the other, and she returned her attention to the white queen demolishing her rook in retaliation instead.

It was only a few moves later that Blaise (and Hermione, by association) had managed to checkmate white with two queens and a knight, and the white king threw its crown at Hermione's feet.

With a squee, Hermione picked it up ( _another_ heavy stone piece). She looked back at her own pieces, but there was no indication of anything one way or another. Taking a deep breath, Hermione strode across the room – but this time, nothing tried to stop her. At the far end, she stepped confidently off the chessboard, grinning.

She'd made it.

She took the black crown off her head, carefully disentangling it from her curls. She looked at the white crown too, thoughtfully, before stashing them both in her bag. She might need them on her way back through to prove her victory.

Standing back up and hefting her bag onto her back, she paused at the door, sniffing.

Something…

Something smelled _awful_.

In fact…

Very, very slowly, Hermione pulled open the door to the other room, opening it just the slightest crack.

It was a troll.

Carefully, Hermione closed the door again, eyes wide, and began to consider her options.

The troll she'd faced at Halloween had nearly killed her, and she had had help, then. This was a challenge that she didn't know how to handle – was this really possible for a first year to beat?

Hermione sat there, thinking.

What did she know about trolls?

Trolls were slow and stupid, she knew. Trolls were also flammable, and often carried big sticks. In myth, exposing them to sunlight would turn them to stone. And…

And nothing. That was it.

Hermione found herself wishing she had learned how to fly by now. She'd give anything to be able to soar across the room, safely out of reach.

Hermione carefully peeked into the room again. The troll seemed bored, sitting against one side of the room on the ground, picking at its navel. It removed something from it, considered it, and ate it, and Hermione suppressed her resulting wave of nausea.

It… didn't _seem_ like it was angry, or like it was actively guarding anything. Was there a chance she could sneak by it? Or would it sniff her out, and subsequently murder her?

There _had_ to be a way a first-year could beat this obstacle, Hermione thought furiously. She'd come this far – she wasn't about to back down now!

From the ruddy green skin and scraggly brownish-green hair of the troll, it had to be a forest troll, which provided some comfort. Mountain trolls, the kind that Hermione had faced in the bathroom, were the most aggressive of all trolls, so this troll would at least be less hell-bent on murdering her. Though, it _would_ still want to murder her.

"First year spells, first year spells," Hermione muttered to herself, rapidly running backwards through their coursework. " _Incendio_ , but then everyone would know someone was here. What else, what else, what else… got it!"

Before she could talk herself out of it, she aimed a quick _Alohomora_ at the far door just in case, then ran into the troll room with a loud cry, pushing all the power she could through her wand.

 _"Lumos!"_

Immediately, her wand lit up like a spotlight, and the troll cried out, blinded, and tried to cover its eyes. Hermione sprinted across the room, threw open the door and ran through it, slamming it shut behind her as fast as she could.

There was a sudden _whoosh_ behind her, but Hermione sat down hard on the ground, panting, as soon as she saw there wasn't any immediate threat. Black flames shot up in the doorway leading forward. Uneasily, Hermione looked behind her, only to see purple flames in the threshold. She looked around the room, but it was obvious there were only two doorways. She was trapped.

Steeling herself, Hermione stood up. All that was in the room was a long, thin table, with seven differently-shaped bottles lined up on it. There was a scroll on the table, next to the bottles. With anxiety slowly filtering into her mind, Hermione picked the scroll up and began to read.

 _Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

 _Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

 _One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

 _Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

 _Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

 _Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

 _Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

 _To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

 _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

 _You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

 _Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

 _But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

 _Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

 _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

 _Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

 _Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Incredibly, Hermione found herself smiling.

It was a logic puzzle.

A _logic_ puzzle. Most wizards didn't seem to have an ounce of logical reasoning skills, and they'd be stuck here forever. But a _smart_ wizard could progress without difficulty.

It was brilliant.

How very Snape-like of Snape.

Hermione had brought along her entire potions kit in preparation for Snape's challenge. She'd even taken a collapsible cauldron from an old Potions classroom she'd found in the dungeons. She had been fully prepared to brew whatever impossibly challenging thing Snape had set forth for her, only to see this.

Amusedly, Hermione set about solving the puzzle.

It didn't take long. The smallest bottle would get her through the black flame. She took note – the round bottle on the end would get her back through the purple, if she had to come back the same way she came.

As she picked up the small bottle, she hesitated. She _did_ have her testing strips with her. Would Snape be so devious as to claim the bottles were one thing, but put something else in them?

…yes. Yes, he would.

The small bottle had very little liquid in it, and Hermione was uneasy about testing it. Instead, she set about testing for poison and nettle wine, to make sure she was correct. To her pleasure, each strip turned the color she was hoping for – meaning she'd located the poisons correctly, and there was no danger in drinking the small bottle.

With five of the seven correlating to what the puzzle claimed they were, Hermione felt confident enough to try. She drained the bottle, shuddering as a feeling of ice flooded her body. Putting the bottle down, she stepped forward into the black fire, and it was with relief realized she couldn't feel the flames licking her body, and then she was through.

What an interesting potion, Hermione mused. She wondered how Snape had made it, and what kind of flames burned black.

This chamber was very large, but it seemed empty. There weren't any other doors on the wall, and there were just stairs leading down toward the middle. As Hermione descended, she realized there was something there – a mirror.

Hermione carefully approached the mirror from the side. She'd read _Alice Goes Through the Looking-Glass_ as a child, and she had no intentions of getting trapped anywhere.

The mirror was tall and gilded, with a golden frame and two clawed feet. There were words engraved along the top, that Hermione carefully leaned over to make out. After a moment, with a frown, she dug out parchment and a self-inking quill from her bag, marking down the words.

 _Erised stra ehru oy tube cafru oyt on wohsi_

Hermione put her quill away and frowned at the paper. She didn't recognize this language at all, and she could at least _recognize_ most European languages, though not read or speak them. She stared at the words, slowly growing more and more frustrated.

She had been trying to beat this obstacle course for months. She'd faced down Fluffy, escaped the Devil's Snare, beaten the flying keys, played the chess game, evaded the troll, and walked through _fire_. She'd obsessed over this for _months_. And now this stupid mirror was standing in her way?

"Why not?" Hermione said to herself. She stood up, her head held high. "It will all end here anyway."

Determined, Hermione moved and stood directly in front of the mirror, glaring defiantly.

She saw herself, glaring defiantly back, and Hermione relaxed, realizing that she wasn't going to be sucked in. The girl in the mirror relaxed too, then smiled, and Hermione tensed – she hadn't smiled.

The Hermione in the mirror looked amused and was smiling at her. Hermione watched as her reflection put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. She watched as the mirror-Hermione winked, and put its hand back into its pocket – and as it did, Hermione felt something heavy drop into her _real_ pocket.

"What on earth…?"

Hermione stepped to the side of the mirror to investigate. She pulled out the same blood-red stone her reflection had held in the mirror. It seemed made of an opaque glass, mostly smooth with oddly jagged edges. It fit comfortably in her palm. Hermione stared at it.

 _"What…?"_

This was the last room. This was absolutely the last room – there were no doorways to anywhere else. So this rock was her prize? Or had someone else beaten her here, a Gryffindor, perhaps, and left this red rock for her to find as a symbol of victory?

Hermione made a face. If so, what a rude thing to do.

It would be just like a Gryffindor to do it, though.

Hermione weighed her options carefully. If this was the prize, presumably it was valuable ( _somehow_ ) and a good prize, even if she didn't understand it. Or, if this was the prize, Dumbledore would ask who held it on the last day, and she would present it at the feast, and she'd win something in front of her peers there. Or, lastly, someone had beaten her here, and she'd found someone's calling card.

Hermione scowled and tried to think if there was any indication anyone else had been through the obstacle course.

Fluffy was unhurt, but that meant nothing – he was easy enough to avoid with music most of the time. Devil's Snare grew back quickly after being burned. None of Flitwick's keys had looked damaged, but there was no way to tell if someone else had picked the lock.

She presumed that McGonagall's chess pieces would reform themselves after the game, like any other wizard's chess set, and she was guessing Snape's bottles probably refilled themselves as well. The only other clue was the troll, which hadn't seemed to sustain any damage before she went through.

Hermione bit her lip, before realizing her biggest clue:

If a Gryffindor had gone through, there _would_ be an obvious sign that they'd gone through, one way or another.

Gryffindors, in her experience, were _not_ good at being subtle and leaving no trace of themselves.

With that thought, Hermione smiled. She'd leave no trace of herself, then, and leave a fake prize in the mirror. That way, if Dumbledore called for the real prize, and someone held up the fake one, she could cut them down by revealing the true one. Imagine if it was a 6th or 7th year, claiming victory, and she was able to triumph over _them_ …? It would be incredible.

Hermione set about looking around the room, investigating, before she finally found a loose stone. Focusing carefully, looking at the blood red stone on the floor, she waved her wand in a deliberate pattern, before whispering an incantation.

To her satisfaction, the rock in her hand transfigured into… _something_ of a duplicate of the real prize. It wasn't as mysterious and opaque looking, but it was blood red, about the right size, had a glassy quality to it, jagged edges, and looked cool. It would suffice, she figured. She hadn't learned what the prize was ahead of time, so hopefully anybody else who tried wouldn't know either.

Leaving the real stone in her bag on the side of the room, Hermione took her duplicate and stood in front of the mirror once more.

This time, she didn't see her reflection at _all_. She saw all her classmates, excited for her and showing obvious respect, as she held up the red stone. Draco was impressed and talking to her openly, Pansy looked shamed and regretful, and Blaise was calling for everyone to applaud her.

She blinked.

As she watched, her reflection slowly changed to include an upset redhead wearing a Gryffindor tie holding the duplicate stone – a mature Ron Weasley, almost? This mirror was odd.

Hermione tried putting her own duplicate into her pocket, but nothing happened. The mirror would not react. With a sigh, she pulled it back out.

How had the original rock gotten into the mirror?

"It needed hidden," Hermione muttered to herself. "It needed to be behind a puzzle."

As she watched her mirror-self enjoy the friendliness and open happiness of her Slytherin classmates, an idea slowly occurred to her.

"It didn't just need to be hidden," she murmured. "It needed to be _safe_."

Hermione closed her eyes, concentrating. As much as she craved the ability to feel safe and loved amongst her classmates, she knew she was a long way off, if it _ever_ happened. But she was working on her power and could keep herself safe. What she _couldn't_ keep safe was this rock.

This rock was too unusual, too special looking, she thought deliberately. And that was true – Pansy would want to know what it was, and it could be stolen from her bag easily. It needed to be kept safe – and she desperately wanted it to be kept safe, safe here, behind all these obstacles, difficult for someone else to find.

She opened her eyes, to see herself in the mirror – alone, once more, and holding out her hand.

Slowly, Hermione moved forward, the stone in her hand, watching as her reflection did the same with her empty outstretched hand. Hermione's hand touched the glass, and there was a cool, liquid-like sensation, and Hermione watched as her decoy stone went _into_ the glass, as if it were water.

She stepped back and looked up. Her reflection held the stone now, offered her a smile, and dropped it into her pocket.

Hermione smiled and nodded at her mirror-self, before stepping away to gather up her things.

What an odd last puzzle. It seemed too easy – just stand in front of a mirror and get the prize?

Who knows, she decided. Maybe it was Dumbledore's puzzle. And he'd always seemed a bit off.

The black flames had died down by the time Hermione returned to the potion room. They erupted behind her once again as she stepped through the threshold, and Hermione was pleased to see her guess was correct – the little bottle was back in its place, and full once again. She took the round bottle and secured her bag on her back, before drinking deeply, shuddering, and waving her wand wildly as she took off running through the next room.

 _"Lumos!"_

The troll cried out and hid its eyes once again, and Hermione sprinted through the door and slammed it behind her, glad she'd left it open on her way through. Before her, the chess pieces had reformed, including kings' crowns.

Carefully, Hermione strode out onto the chessboard. To her relief, the black pawns didn't block her way, and she was relieved to not have to play her way across again – Blaise had probably long since put his own board away.

She shut the door firmly behind her, pleased to hear it magically lock behind her. She hadn't wanted to manually relock it with her picks.

The last door led out into the room with the ceiling of Devil's Snare, and Hermione couldn't help but grin. Above was Fluffy, and Hermione decided to just leave the music wand there, instead of trying to get it back. Let Fluffy have it as a toy – he'd destroy it soon enough, leaving no trace of her having been through.

Bracing herself, Hermione pulled open the last door and stepped through.

The world warped around her, tilting, and Hermione felt like she was spinning in space, lost, and her brain seemed to be rejecting the very idea of reality in an incredibly painful way, right before she was spat out directly in front of the forbidden corridor, landing hard on her rear.

"Ow…" She rubbed her rear, slowly getting up. She was definitely going to be bruised.

"You! What are you doing here?"

Hermione looked up to see Filch, looking at her furiously.

"I-I'm on my way to Astronomy class," Hermione said quickly. "I-It's Tuesday night – Slytherins have it at midnight."

Filch looked at her suspiciously.

"And the way to the Astronomy Tower is by the Forbidden Corridor, now, is it?" he sneered.

"I-I wasn't here a moment ago," she told him. "I was on the 7th floor a minute ago, making my way up. I think the Weasley Twins did something – all of a sudden, I was falling through the floor…"

Filch scowled.

"Those twins are the scourge of the castle," he muttered. He looked at her, sneering. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to class, then, before I turn you in for lollygagging."

"Yes! Yes, sir!"

Hermione scampered, making her way up to the Astronomy tower with her Explorer's Pack on her back as if it were her bookbag. By the time she made it up, she was panting, and seriously regretting putting two heavy stone crowns in it before.

She slid into place just before Professor Sinistra arrived to begin telling them about Jupiter's orbit. Blaise slid over next to her, looking at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Got held up?"

"Weasley Twins," Hermione panted out, reusing the same excuse. Better to keep her lies consistent. "They took exception to me beating their brother in chess."

Blaise nodded, though he scowled.

"If they do it again, let me know," he told her. "We can declare for to all of House Weasley, if we need to, instead of just Ronald."

"I'll let you know," Hermione promised. "I don't think that's necessary just yet, though."

Blaise carefully looked her over, taking in her sweaty and dusty demeanor, before nodding and going back to his own spot.

Hermione tried her best to pay attention to her professor's lecture, but she just couldn't. She couldn't even pay attention to the gorgeous sight of Jupiter's moons through the telescope. Her thoughts kept wandering to the mysterious stone in her bag, and the odd mirror with the writing on top.

It was late in the night, long after her dorm mates had gone to sleep, after Hermione had taken a late-night shower to cleanse herself of all the rock and stone dust (and any lingering troll smell) from the obstacles and stashed her prize in her trunk, that Hermione sat up in her bed, braiding her damp hair and looking at the scrap of parchment, puzzled, when it came to her.

"It's _mirror-writing!_ "

Hermione grabbed a quill off her night stand, and she was quick to put the answer beneath the original words.

 _Ishow no tyo urfac ebut yo urhe arts desire_

 _I show not your face but your hearts desire_

Hermione bit her lip, considering.

Her heart's desire?

The first thing the mirror had shown her made sense. She'd wanted to 'win' the obstacle course and claim the prize more than anything else. She didn't know why that earned her the prize, though. Maybe it was just testing a person's determination to win?

The second thing the mirror had shown her – that shook her. Hermione hadn't realized how desperately she wanted to feel safe, loved, and as if she had real friends in Slytherin. Instead, she had allies, acquaintances, and enemies, and she had to constantly be on her game.

With a sigh, Hermione settled herself back into bed, shoving the parchment into her bedside drawer. She carefully tried to levitate herself off of the bed for a few minutes with the help of her air elemental (but ended up mostly bouncing on the bed until her power ran out), before she closed her eyes.

Regardless of the esteem of her classmates, she'd done something great, that none of them had ever done.

She'd beaten the 3rd floor corridor.

None of them could lay claim to that.

And with that thought, she fell asleep, a small smile on her lips.

Nothing would tarnish her victory.


	40. Bullying

**CW: Violence  
**

* * *

Hermione's joy at her victory carried her through the week precisely two days, into the evening of the second day in the Slytherin common room.

"Granger."

Hermione looked up from the book she was reading to see Pansy sneering down at her.

"Professor Snape is looking for you," she told her. "He's looking for a few of us. Follow me."

Closing her book obediently, Hermione hopped off the chair and followed Pansy out of the common room, deeper into the dungeons.

"We're not going to his office?" Hermione questioned as they passed it.

Pansy glanced back at her. "His office…? Ah… he wanted us to meet in an old classroom. For a demonstration, I think."

A demonstration? Hermione's mind lit with the possibilities of what Snape might want to quietly teach his Slytherins far beneath the school.

Upon reaching the classroom, Pansy gestured for Hermione to enter before her, which Hermione did without a thought. She glanced around – the old classroom was dank and didn't have many desks left in it. There were several other Slytherins all lounging around, sitting on the desks and chairs, and Hermione was mildly surprised that she would get to learn something along with the older students.

"Where is Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, looking around.

There was a _click_ , and Hermione turned to see Pansy stepping in front of the door, blocking the handle and lock from view. She offered Hermione a bland smile, and Hermione felt her heart slowly start to sink.

"There is no special demonstration by Professor Snape, is there?" she said quietly.

"Very good, Granger," an older, spotty boy said snidely, standing up. "What gave it away?"

"Even if Professor Snape would invite me to see an advanced magic demonstration with older students, he'd never have invited her," Hermione said, gesturing towards Pansy. "She can barely figure out which end of her wand to hold half the time."

Several of the older students snickered, and Pansy's face twisted with rage.

"That's why you're here now, Granger; you don't know your place," she spat. "Going around after Christmas like you'd deserved a proper pureblood courting gift, bossing everyone around at the snowball fight, acting like you're better than everybody else..."

"Some of us decided to remind you of your proper place in the world," said a large boy, who cracked his knuckles ominously.

"And in case you've forgotten where that is," said an older girl, with an oily smile, "it's in the ground."

* * *

Hermione had been bullied before at Muggle school.

Hermione hadn't been very popular, and she'd had the bad habit of correcting her peers when they made mistakes or spoke with improper grammar. It hadn't earned her any friends, but it had definitely made her enemies, and Hermione had found recess a trial for a long time. Before her magic had matured enough to start lashing out and protecting her with regularity, Hermione had been cornered and physically bullied a fair few times – generally a few punches, hair-pulling, slapping, and the like.

It had hurt, but she had survived it, often by playing pathetic and acting more hurt than she actually was. She hadn't been able to adequately defend herself, so surrendering and giving up had left the bullies to declare victory sooner rather than later, leaving her with fewer potential injuries than she might have gained if she hadn't faked injury.

One thing Hermione had enjoyed about being in Hogwarts so far was her ability to defend herself. A snide remark could earn someone a curse, and people had largely stopped bullying her after the first couple months, once they'd realized she could defend herself.

It only took Hermione half a second of seeing seven wands pointed at her to immediately decide that attempting to defend herself wasn't going to be a viable option this time.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Hermione's wand went flying out of her hand, despite her trying to grab for it, and it clattered to the floor a distance away from her. The next spell that hit her Hermione didn't hear, but she _felt_ – sharp pain lanced across her leg, and she screamed, dropping to the ground.

"Can't have a Mudblood like you prancing around the school like you're on the same level as the rest of us," spat one of the boys. He hit her with another spell, and the same pain lanced her other leg – her Achilles tendon, she realized vaguely, even as she screamed again. Someone knew their anatomy.

"That's better," the older girl said, smirking in satisfaction. "Sniveling on the floor, scared and cowering."

"Much better place for a Mudblood," one of the guys agreed.

Someone hit her with another spell, cutting open her robes and slicing over her chest. Hermione screamed again and started to cry, and another cutting curse narrowly missed her eyes, striking across her forehead, cutting a few of her curls short, too.

"Don't _blind_ her," the girl snapped.

"I'm not! I missed – she was squirming. I was trying to leave a scar on her cheek for her to remember us by-"

Hermione curled up into a ball, holding herself tightly. She screamed and cried at each hit she took. Eventually, the students seemed to tire of curses, and they began kicking her and spitting on her, before they tired of this as well.

"Come on," one of the boys said, finally. "Only an hour till curfew. Let's get out of here; she won't be found until Filch patrols, and we need to establish alibis by then."

The group all filtered out, spitting on her or giving her snide remarks as they left, one by one. Pansy was the last to leave, casting a smug, smirking look backwards, before she slammed the door behind her. Hermione could hear the lock click into place.

Finally, the dungeon fell silent.

Taking a slow breath, Hermione carefully began uncurling herself, taking stock of her injuries.

First – the cuts on her body. That pain was sharp and distracting – and some of them were still bleeding. That could get dangerous, fast. Next, the bruising – Hermione didn't know how to tell if she had internal organ damage herself, but the sooner she could get that checked out, the better.

She crawled across the floor, finding her wand under one of the desks. She carefully picked it up, her hands weak, and thanked her lucky stars she'd lingered in the Hospital Wing with Malfoy.

 _"Episkey."_

She healed the cuts on her arms first, though it took a few tries, with her shaky hands. After that, she fixed her severed Achilles' tendons, with a screech and a whimper – they hurt almost as much being knit back together as they had when they were cut.

After healing a few more cuts on her legs and body, Hermione shakily got to her feet.

There was blood on the floor, which didn't come as a surprise. As much as Hermione wanted to leave evidence of what she had been through as proof of her story, another part of her roiled at the idea; the Slytherins had _planned_ this attack. They weren't about to be caught, blood puddle or not. And leaving her blood lying around was _dangerous_ – Hermione had a book of rituals that had a fair few examples of just how dangerous that could be.

With a groan, Hermione flicked a cleaning spell at it, then another, then another. After six of them, she hit the stones with a bleaching spell, and a heavy smell clogged the room. But at least her blood was gone.

Stumbling to the door, Hermione aimed her wand at the door.

 _"Alohomora."_

The lock clicked open, and Hermione carefully made her way down the hallway, leaning heavily on the walls as she did. She wiped her hands off periodically on her robes so she wouldn't leave bloody hand prints as she did, but she was getting dizzy. She hoped Snape's office wasn't much further.

Finally, she turned into the familiar corridor, and she nearly cried with relief as she saw the familiar sconces outside his office door. Instead, she managed a relatively steady knock.

"Enter."

Hermione pushed open the door and moved to stand in front of Snape's desk, closing the door behind her. Snape was grading papers; it took him a moment to glance up fully from his desk, and she knew the moment he did, because suddenly he was standing, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione could imagine what she looked like. She had a cut across her forehead that was still bleeding profusely – she hadn't wanted to try and heal a wound she couldn't see. She had shredded robes, damp with blood, and her white school blouse had turned red and sticky.

"Professor Snape," she said calmly. "I've come to request a Blood-Replenishing Potion."

Her cool delivery was ruined entirely by her swooning at the end of her sentence and falling sideways into the chair, her vision spinning. Snape was next to her a moment later, casting diagnostics under his breath, before casting a charm, a bottle zooming to him from the shelves.

"Blood replenisher," he told her, uncorking it. "Drink."

Hermione drank the potion, the thick liquid nearly making her choke. A moment later, she sighed, and she felt herself relax slightly as the dizziness began to recede.

"Thank you, Professor," she told him.

"Do not thank me yet, you silly girl," Snape told her, snarling. "I think you may have a lacerated spleen. We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey immediately."

"No!" Hermione objected. "No. No, professor, can't you just help heal me? I don't want to go to the Hospital Wing."

Snape stared at her in astonishment.

"Miss Granger, you are not usually one of my dimmer students," he informed her. "Pray tell, why are you suddenly acting a fool and refusing desperately-needed medical treatment?"

"I fell down the stairs," Hermione said promptly. "I'm very embarrassed about my clumsiness. I don't want anyone else to know."

Snape's eyes were piercing.

"Fell down some stairs," he snarled. "They must have been very sharp stairs, to cut you up so."

"Very sharp, sir," Hermione agreed. "Rotten bit of luck, on my part."

Snape swore and stood, cloak swirling behind him as he stormed off into the small room connected to his office. Hermione sat on the chair for a long moment or two and swayed a bit; the blood replenishing potion was helping, but it was making her a lot more aware of just how much everything _hurt._

"-she _what?_ "

Professor Snape abruptly returned, Madam Pomfrey in tow, and gestured rudely toward Hermione.

"See for yourself," he said snidely. "Mind the blood on the floor."

"Oh, you dear girl!" Madam Pomfrey fell to her knees beside her, already casting diagnostics. "Whatever happened to you?"

Hermione glanced at Professor Snape.

"I fell down some stairs," Hermione said.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a sharp look.

"I understand this Slytherin nonsense of not ratting each other out, but this is for your health, Hermione," she said. "I need to know for medical accuracy. What _really_ happened?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Well, the stairs certainly hurt more than most stairs generally do," she said carefully. "In fact, it felt an awful lot like cutting charms to my Achilles' tendons, then to the rest of my body, then like several solid kicks to my stomach, back, and ribs."

Snape snarled and stormed around behind his desk, pacing. Hermione bit her lip; he was a bit frightening like this. She didn't really think he was mad at _her_ , but Hermione knew he wasn't pleased with her not telling him the truth.

"Cutting charms to the Achilles' tendons?" the nurse echoed, frowning at Hermione's ankles.

"I healed them," Hermione explained. "Episkey. I- ah- I didn't think I could walk without healing that first."

Madame Pomfrey looked impressed.

"I'd wondered if you'd learned anything, from shadowing me in the Hospital Wing last term," she said. "Hold on to your chair, Miss Granger. This is going to hurt."

She cast several spells in quick succession, and Hermione gasped and whimpered. It _did_ hurt. A lot.

"I have just fixed your lacerated spleen and internal bleeding," she informed her. "Both of which could have easily been fatal if not treated in a timely manner."

Hermione gave her a bland smile.

"I'm glad I was treated, then," she said politely.

"Oh, hold on, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said darkly. "We're not done yet."

* * *

By the time she was done, Hermione had had her head wound cleaned and healed, two broken ribs repaired and put back into place, the multitude of cuts on her body healed, the bruises on her body magically taken care of, and even the scars on her body left behind from her own poor healing attempts wiped away. By the time Madam Pomfrey had been satisfied, Hermione had been stripped to her underclothes and examined all over, as well as been fed another Blood-Replenishing potion.

"Well, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said finally. "I daresay this is the worst case of having fallen down the stairs that I've seen yet."

Hermione offered a trembling smile. "I'm very clumsy, I suppose."

Madam Pomfrey looked upset herself, but she stood and gathered her things, turning to go. Hermione felt a bolt of panic.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione said, and the nurse turned back. Hermione bit her lip. "Because I wasn't _actually_ ever in the Hospital Wing, I wouldn't need to be marked down on the official Hospital Wing intake forms, would I? Or on the sign-in sheet?"

Madam Pomfrey gave Hermione a long look.

"No, I suppose not," she said finally, with a sigh. "Have a good evening, Miss Granger, Professor Snape."

She flounced from the room into the side room, where Hermione presumed Professor Snape had a fireplace hooked up to the Floo.

With a sigh, Hermione touched her fixed-up sides, tentatively pressing on her skin. There was still a definite ache, but there was no longer the deep pain of severe bruising.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione quickly looked up to see Professor Snape looking at her from across his desk, his face dark. She shivered.

"Explain."

Hermione looked at him, considered, took a deep breath, and told him what happened.

She left nothing out. She included Pansy coming to get her, and everything the students had said to her during the altercation. She recounted the order of the attacks, who had hit her, how many times, and how hard. How they'd left her bleeding in the room, intending for her to be caught by Filch. Snape's face did not change during her story, but his eyes grew darker and darker.

"And who, pray tell, were these noble Slytherins?" Snape said quietly.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know."

Snape's nostrils flared. "Miss Granger-"

"I don't _know_ ," Hermione said again, her voice a bit of a wail. "Professor, I don't _know_ them. I stay away from the older students – all they do is say mean things or try to trip me. I don't know who most of them are, only the prefects. I only know what they look like, not their names."

Snape stood immediately and left the room again, leaving Hermione sitting there for another long minute or two, looking down at her ruined clothes and wondering what to do with them.

"Here."

A book was plopped down in front of her, and Hermione looked up at Snape slowly. Snape nodded expectantly, and Hermione looked back down.

It was a yearbook.

"I didn't know that Hogwarts even _had_ these," Hermione said wonderingly.

Snape ignored her.

"Find your attackers," Snape said silkily. "Identify them."

Hesitantly, Hermione paged through the book, finding the listing of Slytherin house last. Her attackers looked different in the yearbook than they had in the classroom – their faces not as twisted with hatred, and more normal-looking – but Hermione was able to pick out all six of them.

"The seventh was Pansy Parkinson," Hermione told him. "She's a first year; she wouldn't be in last year's book."

Snape was busy writing down names and ignored her. After he did, he took a deep breath, and Hermione watched as her teacher appeared to try to steady himself.

"Miss Granger," he told her. "What I am about to tell you is something I am not proud of. I do endeavor to be honest with my students, though, and I am afraid there are things you must know."

Hermione straightened. "I'm listening."

"If you go to the Headmaster to report this, most likely, nothing will happen," Snape told her seriously. "These students will have made sure to have iron-clad alibis, and it will be the word of one first year against seven of theirs."

Hermione blinked.

"I… kind of assumed that part, sir," she admitted. "Things in Slytherin don't exactly play out like they do in the other houses, do they?"

Snape's lips twisted.

"No, Miss Granger, they do not." He grimaced. "It is at this point I must tell you a second unfortunate truth: I cannot punish these students."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I didn't think you could either, for the same reason," she said. "But, if you're telling me this separately… you can't punish them for a different reason?"

Snape nodded once, sharply, and Hermione scowled.

"It's their names, isn't it?" she said, angry. "Their names, their stupid bloodlines, and whoever their stupid parents are. That's protecting them, isn't it? Stupid politics."

She scowled at his desk, arms folded, and Snape sighed. There was a silence where Hermione just glared at his desk, fuming at the unfairness of it all, while Snape said nothing.

"Miss Granger," he said finally.

Hermione looked up.

"The same constraint that would protect these families from any potential scandal of their children attacking someone runs both ways," he said. His eyes bored into hers. "If, for example, someone were to attack _them_ , and _best_ them, especially if that student were _younger_ than them, and of what was considered 'lesser' blood…"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"The embarrassment would be incredible," she said slowly. "Their families would tell them not to make a fuss and to handle it themselves, rather than admit what happened."

Snape inclined his head.

"…but that could end up in an escalating war," Hermione said, worrying at her lip. "If, _hypothetically_ , I were to go after them, and somehow _win_ , what's to stop them from coming back after _me?_ I don't want to have to watch my back the rest of my life."

Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

"Hermione," he said, surprising her. "Are you going to go off and attack these students right now?"

"What?" Hermione said, surprised. "Um. No. Well, maybe Pansy. But the rest, of course not – they're all much older than me. They'd pummel me."

"And if you _do_ decide to go after them, and extract your revenge, when would you do it?" he asked, his eyes gleaming.

"After I was sure I could beat them," Hermione said slowly. "I wouldn't do it unless I thought I could win."

"And if you _win_ , Miss Granger," Snape said, looking at her directly, "after having gotten to that place – do you really think any of them would be able to win against you again?"

Hermione considered, a small smile growing across her face.

"No," she said simply. "I don't."

"Then," Snape said, "you have your answer."

Hermione thought about this for several minutes, before looking back to Snape.

"Professor," she said finally. "You're not really like any of the other professors in this school, are you?"

Snape apparently took this as a compliment, and he smirked, dark laughter dancing in his eyes.

"Oh, Miss Granger, you have already said it yourself," he said, his eyes glinting. "In Slytherin, we do things _very_ differently."


	41. The Quiet

Hermione showed up to classes looking and acting completely normally the day after the bullying incident. Pansy had been trying to hide her surprise, but Hermione was careful to show no reaction and give nothing away. She was quieter, though – she didn't raise her hand quite as often in class, and she kept to herself during the practical exercises. Crabbe and Goyle were distressed over it – her helping them in Charms class had been what was helping them pass.

Hermione still claimed top marks in class, and she still answered the teachers whenever she was called upon, but she took upon herself a somewhat more reserved attitude. She wasn't going to shirk her classes, and she certainly wasn't going to not achieve everything she could because of a bunch of bullies, but there was no need to advertise the fact and be ostentatious about it – not while she couldn't beat them, if they were to attack again.

Hermione felt _different_ , afterward. It was hard to see a face in the hallway, and not flinch, remembering that same face twisted with hatred as it aimed a cutting charm at you. Just managing _normal_ was a challenge, and Hermione began avoiding the Slytherin common room, instead meeting with Blaise, Tracey, and Millie in old classrooms to study, claiming that the classrooms were warmer than the previous ones they'd used in the dungeons.

Things remained much the same, on the outside. Hermione still endured snide remarks from the older Slytherins, but she retained the respect she'd earned of her classmates and a few others in the lower years. But Hermione was _disappointed,_ oddly enough, she realized; she'd come so far in gaining the respect of her classmates that it'd seemed like she'd climbed a huge mountain, when really, she'd only mounted the smallest foothill of overcoming the blood prejudice she faced. And although nothing had really changed, Hermione felt like _everything_ was different.

Hogwarts just didn't seem quite as magical anymore.

Her Gryffindor friends noticed the difference in her behavior, and after much pestering, Hermione finally opened up about being bullied to her friends, though she skimped on the details of what had happened – mostly by leaving them out entirely.

Which was a good decision – these friends were Gryffindors, after all, and would have run to McGonagall in indignation on her behalf if she'd told. Just admitted that Pansy and some older Slytherins were giving her a hard time had them furious.

"Can't you just talk to Snape about it?"

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Hermione corrected. "And no."

Hermione, Harry, and Neville were hanging out in one of the higher towers, near the Divination classroom. It was warmer up here, and the air smelled like cinnamon and something else. It was calming to Hermione, and even better, _far_ away from the Slytherin common room, where Hermione didn't quite feel safe anymore.

"Professor McGonagall would take exception to bullying in Gryffindor," Neville said. "I think Lavender and Parvati were teasing Sally-Ann a little too much, and McGonagall set them straight in a hurry."

"It's different in Slytherin," Hermione said moodily. She sat herself on a nearby window ledge, swinging her feet. "If I went to a teacher, it'd be saying that I can't handle my problems on my own."

"But you're _eleven._ You're not supposed to _have_ to handle this on your own," Harry said. "The teachers even _like_ you. You don't think they'd help you with Pansy?"

"Twelve," Hermione corrected. "And no, absolutely not. It might stop the bullying, but it'd lose any respect I've gained so far in Slytherin."

Neville grimaced. "I'll never get how you got sorted into that rotten house, Hermione. You're so nice!"

"Ambition, I guess," Hermione said, kicking the wall. "It's not _all_ bad. It's just… I get so _frustrated_ , you know? I don't want to have to constantly deal with this."

"Maybe you could show her up?" Harry suggested. "What are you good at that she's not?"

Neville snorted. "Besides everything?"

Hermione laughed.

"Pansy's marks aren't great, but they're not horrible, either," she said. "I just… I need to show them that I can do something that proves that I _belong_."

"Down to a duel or some archaic Pureblood tradition, then," Neville sighed. "Probably have to be a duel. The weird Pureblood traditions aren't really done anymore. Some people say they're Dark Magic."

"Are they?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Neville looked uncomfortable.

"Not… not _really_ ," he said. "But some of them involve blood, which makes people uneasy. A lot of people squirm at the thought of blood magic."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Is it evil?"

"A lot of Dark spells and rituals use people's blood to target them," Neville said, looking more and more uneasy. "So people don't like it. It seems like a slippery slope, to most witches and wizards."

"A duel, then," Hermione said, tactfully changing the subject. "She's bound to refuse if I challenge her. How can I force her into it?"

" _Is_ there some fancy pureblood honor-duel system?" Harry asked, looking at Neville. "Is there a way for her to challenge Pansy without Pansy being able to refuse? And if she refuses, she looks like a coward?"

"I don't think that's legal anymore," Neville said, hesitant. "It definitely wouldn't be legal for children."

"Probably a good thing," Hermione muttered, hopping off the window ledge. "I'd have probably ended up dueling Ron my first week here."

"And I'd actually have dueled Malfoy," Harry said, making a face.

"We'll think of something, Hermione," Neville encouraged. "I'm sure we will."

Hermione gave them both a smile as they started down the stairs.


	42. The Ravenclaws

The Ravenclaw Common room, in some ways, was more welcoming than the Slytherin one. When Terry Boot had invited her up for a study group after the end of History of Magic, Hermione hadn't hesitated in accepting.

Where the Slytherin common room was regal, stately, and imposing, the Ravenclaw common room was graceful and open. The walls were hung with blue and bronze silks that were interspersed with windows, and the ceiling was painted with stars to evoke the night sky, echoed in the midnight-blue carpet of the floor. Well-made wooden tables with chairs abounded, as did pillows, couches, side tables, and other places for reading and studying. There was a large marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw next to the door that Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by. There was no similar statue of Slytherin in her own common room.

Hermione sat down with Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Anthony Goldstein at one of the tables. She garnered a few raised eyebrows and glances with her Slytherin jumper, but no one seemed to bother themselves enough to inquire. As she scooched her chair in, she was surprised to find the chair unusually comfortable.

Anthony must have seen her surprise. "Cushioning charms," he told her, grinning. He tapped his own chair. "They'll save your back and bottom from soreness after studying."

Hermione wondered why no one had ever thought to apply the same thing to the Slytherin chairs. Maybe they preferred them to be uncomfortable, to promote better posture or something.

"So we're discussing the Mending Charm," Mandy said, pulling out her book. "Flitwick wants a foot on the elements of the spell and other general information – probably just to test for retention and comprehension, before we try."

"Fair enough," Terry said, nodding. "Has anyone gotten the Mending Charm to work yet?"

Hermione looked around as the others looked from person to person, before raising her own hand. They all looked impressed.

"Really?" said Michael Corner. "This isn't an easy spell. You've gotten the hang of it already?"

"The wand movement is similar to _Episkey_ ," Hermione explained. "It just leaves a swoosh off the end. They do similar things, after all."

" _Episkey_?" Anthony asked.

"It's a basic healing spell," Hermione said. "But here; I can show you the Mending Charm."

With a quick _Diffindo_ , she sliced one of the wall hangings. There was a horrible ripping noise, and an angry shout from Michael. Hermione was quick with the second spell, before someone else could notice and raise a fuss.

" _Reparo,_ " she said clearly, her wand work careful and flawless.

Her compatriots watched as the hanging sewed itself back together, the magical stitches melting into nothing as the fabric sealed.

"We didn't even _learn_ the Severing Charm, yet," Michael objected. "That's _after_ the repairing charm in the book, so we can fix what we've torn."

Hermione shrugged.

"I fixed it, didn't I?" she said, somewhat uncomfortable. She looked to Anthony, who was grinning. "Did you at least catch the wand movement?"

"I did," Anthony said. He traced his wand through the air. "Like this?"

"It's more a circle and spiral than a loop-de-loop," Hermione suggested, moving her own wand through the air slowly. "Think of the wholeness and one-ness of a circle – no beginning, no end. Then a spiral to direct the power."

Terry Boot stopped his note taking and stared. His eyes were surprisingly intense, and Hermione shifted, uncomfortable.

"Does it say that in the book?" he demanded.

Hermione bit her lip. "Err – no."

"Then how do you know what the wand motion is for?"

"I– umm–"

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't remember where she learned it.

"It's like _Episkey_ , though," she tried. She traced her wand through the air for that spell. "See, the circle in the beginning to represent wholeness, the spiral to direct the power safely, the side swish to indicate a person, and the flick to let the spell go."

"None of us know _Episkey_ ," Mandy said. "Did the book you learned about _Episkey_ from break it down like that?"

Hermione wracked her brain.

"Umm," she said intelligently. She flushed. "I- I don't remember. I guess it must have."

Anthony laughed.

"I guess that's what having a direct line to Magic itself is like," he said, smiling at her. "You just _know_ things about magic, without really knowing where it came from at all."

Hermione flushed and threw an eraser at him, which he deftly caught and grinned.

Terry was looking at her with new respect.

"Is that what it is?" he said. "Is this something being a New Blood lets you understand?"

Hermione flushed, but she didn't say anything.

"Well, then," Terry said, sitting up. He flipped the pages in his book backwards, letting them thump to the right side. He looked up at her. "Break down the wand movements in the Levitation Charm for me, then."

"We've already learned that one," Michael Corner objected.

"If I've got a direct line to deeper understanding of magic, I'm going to use it," Terry shot back. He looked back to Hermione, his dark eyes glinting. "…please?"

Hermione bit her lip, considering. She didn't _really_ have a direct line to magic. It wasn't like she knew the meaning behind the wand movements for the Levitation charm, did she?

She swished and flicked her own wand, before realizing – she _did._

"The swish is to gather your power, and the flick is to connect it to your target," Hermione said, swishing and flicking her own wand at an inkwell, guiding it into the air. "If you focus, you can feel your magic holding the object up. The charm doesn't release until you let it go."

Terry nodded, taking notes, while Mandy elbowed Anthony.

"Did she just do that charm wordlessly?" she hissed.

Anthony grinned. "I think so."

Hermione hadn't realized. She'd done the charm so often… every night for _months_. It was second-nature, at this point. Fighting a self-conscious flush, she guided the inkwell back down.

"And Lumos?"

Hermione cast the charm, letting her wand glow softly. "That's just pushing your power through your wand. The spell converts it into light. The more power you push through, the brighter the light is."

"Alohomora?"

Hermione traced an 'S' shape through the air. "The incantation helps guide the purpose of the spell, whereas the movement guides the magic in the general direction you need to unlock a door – the pins and tumblers, then the lock itself. If a lock doesn't unlock the first try on Alohomora, a different or backwards wand movement can help – it depends on the design of the lock."

Michael and Mandy were staring at her openly, now. Anthony was just grinning, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, like he was just enjoying the show.

"Incendio?"

"You're literally tracing the shape of a flame with the wand, to guide the magic into purpose. The sharp flick at the end indicates a violence, which allows the magic to create the spark that catches fire."

"Is this all in a book somewhere?" Mandy asked. "I want to know all this too."

"Umm," Hermione said, wracking her brain. "If it is, I don't know. I haven't found one or read one, at any rate."

"Then how do you know all this?" she asked.

"Hermione is New Blood," Anthony told her.

"New Blood?"

Hermione almost answered her, but Anthony beat her to it.

"You know how there are purebloods and halfbloods, right? Every pureblood line was founded ages and ages ago by a New Blood – a person Magic touched directly, giving them power. They all went on to found Great Houses."

Hermione could practically hear the capitalization in his voice, as he over-pronounced certain things.

"Hermione is a New Blood. It's special – there hasn't been one in _centuries_. Magic's touched her _personally_ , so she has a direct line into Magic itself. That's why she's so good – her unconscious is directly tapped into Magic, allowing her to intuitively learn and understand all this."

Mandy looked at Hermione with a new respect.

"Sorry, Hermione," Mandy apologized. "I didn't know. I thought you were a Muggle-born."

Hermione offered her a small smile back, going for regal and gracious.

"That's okay," she said. "New Bloods are very rare. A lot of my own house still don't believe me yet."

Terry looked up from his notes, surprised. He had ink splattered across his nose.

"Really?" he said. "Even after seeing your power? Seeing all you can do and understand?"

"Slytherins don't really study together," Hermione explained. "Only very rarely. They just see what I can do in class. And… they're _very_ prejudiced against people from Muggle backgrounds."

Michael Corner snorted.

"Trust the snakes to have their heads up their asses," he said. He glanced at Hermione. "No offense."

"None taken," Hermione said, laughing, Anthony laughing as well.

"You're welcome to take refuge in Ravenclaw," Terry Boot declared. "You're as smart as any of us, and we _like_ learning and new knowledge."

"Thanks for the official invitation, Terry," Hermione said, grinning. "I'll definitely take you up on it."

Anthony shot her a smirk, and Hermione had to fight the urge to blush. He really _was_ very good-looking.

"Now, the spell?" Anthony suggested. "Let's knock this essay out of the way. Then Hermione can help us practice the spell before class."

Hermione wrote the essay absently, unable to really focus. It was interesting to hear someone else describe her as being New Blood, and what they thought it entailed. She wondered who Anthony had heard about it from – she didn't remember who all she'd informed that she was New Blood, but it hadn't been that many. Part of her plan had been to let the information spread naturally; people would be more likely to believe a rumor about her than a direct claim she made herself.

She wondered, though. She didn't remember where she'd read about wand movements and their meanings. It was kind of odd.


	43. The Permission Slip

Hermione had watched Professor Quirrell carefully for months.

He was a poor teacher, sure, but Hermione wondered if there was something more.

His stutter, for example, was inconsistent. He'd stutter on different consonants at the beginning of a words, but not stutter on the same consonant later in the same sentence. Sometimes, the stutter dropped completely, before being picked back up, as if he had remembered he had forgotten it. There were no repeated syllables or vowel sounds – only easy-to-stutter consonants.

She'd also learned that before, he'd been the Professor of Muggle Studies. She wasn't sure _how_ being a teacher of Muggle Studies qualified one to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but his lack of actual proficiency in the subject definitely showed in the lack of accuracy in the information he was teaching them.

His bad teaching had a _purpose_ to it, though. He didn't just get things wrong – he taught them things that would purposefully make them weak to Dark Magic. His instruction on what to do if a small, dark creature bit you would heal your wound, sure – but it wouldn't extract the dark magic from it. His advice on how to run away was to run as straight and as fast as possible to gain the maximum distance, even though everyone in the Muggle world had long since worked out the best way to flee from fire was to zig-zag.

And from what the older students had said, Quirrell had _changed_. He hadn't used to be so scared, and he never used to teach wrong information before. He'd used to be meticulous about checking his sources, apparently, which couldn't be more different than his teaching style now.

It had been with curiosity that Hermione approached him after class one day.

"Professor?"

He looked up, nodding to her as her classmates filed out of the room.

"Miss G-g-g-granger."

"I was wondering if you would sign this," she said, handing him a slip of parchment. Quirrell glanced at it, then looked at it again, before looking up at her.

"This is a request for books from the Restricted Section," he said.

 _No stutter now_ , she noted.

Aloud, she said, "Yes. I'm interested in learning more about rituals."

Quirrell raised an eyebrow. It was a trait Hermione had never seen him have before.

"Why do you want me to sign this?"

"I'm curious to learn what they consist of, so I can better protect myself against them," Hermione recited. "We learn a lot about protecting ourselves from modern magic, but not about protecting ourselves from old magic."

Quirrell snorted and moved to sit down behind his desk. Hermione stared at him.

"Miss Granger, neither of these books has a thing to do with defense from ritual targeting," he said. "They are exclusively about rituals and how to do them."

 _He's read them?_ Hermione was surprised.

"I didn't know that. After all, I haven't read them," she said reasonably.

Professor Quirrell gave her a sharp look, and again Hermione felt like she was interacting with someone entirely different than her tentative Defense professor.

"Miss Granger," he said, looking at her. His eyes were piercing. "Why do you want these books?"

Her anger at Pansy rushed to the forefront of her mind, almost against her will, and Hermione found the truth spilling from her lips.

"I want to retaliate against a housemate who keeps bullying me and insisting that I'm a Mudblood," she said, her anger leaking into her voice. "I don't know enough spells to do something good through charm work, so I was hoping I could find something to work and adapt in a book of rituals."

"And you want to do a target ritual to affect her?" Quirrell's voice was perfectly even. "Some would consider that dark magic."

"Surely it depends on the ritual, professor," she said, her eyes wide and her voice innocent. "And at this point, it's all hypothetical, anyway."

Quirrell's lip curled. "Of course."

To her surprise, he signed the form, and added two more books to the top of the list.

"You will find these to be better references for ritual creation," he told her. "The other two are more grimoires of rituals than instructional. But I'm sure you'll find all of them… _illuminating_."

Hermione stared at him, and he smiled. It was an oily, odd sort of smile. His eyes darkened.

"I know what it is like to be in Slytherin and be bullied for not being a pureblood, Miss Granger," he told her quietly. "The House of Slytherin was supposed to be for the ambitious and the powerful, and nothing else. Many people have forgotten what our founder stood for and wanted."

Hermione nodded slowly, picking up her form. The way he was looking at her, something dark inside his eyes – she felt frightened.

 _Frightened._ Of _Quirrell._

"If you w-w-would like any further help," he said, his eyes losing their edge, "let me know. I am always h-h-happy to h-h-help an enterprising young scholar."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, recognizing her dismissal. "I appreciate the help."

She left quickly, clutching her form, and went straight to the library.

Madam Pince gave her a sharp look when she handed her the form, but after testing it for authenticity, she went and got the requested books for Hermione, who thanked her quickly and went to the back of the library to read.

Before she started in on the books, she stopped to check on something else.

According to the yearbook for 1984, Quirinus Quirrell had been sorted into Ravenclaw.

Hermione looked down at the picture of his cheerful face, smiling up at her happily from amongst his classmates.

She shivered and closed the book, before reaching for one of her new ones and disguising the cover.

 _Ravenclaw, not Slytherin,_ the back of her mind echoed. _He lied, or it was not Quirrell talking to you._

Hermione resolutely ignored the voice in her head and determinedly got to work.


	44. A Small Complication

Hermione's routine was thrown off in the middle of February, by something she had not expected to be a big deal: Valentine's Day.

Given it was a Muggle, originally _Christian_ holiday, Hermione hadn't thought Hogwarts would pay the slightest bit of attention to it, but apparently, Valentine's Day was a big deal amongst her peers.

This irritated her.

 _Severely._

"It's _not_ a Wizarding holiday!" she ranted in the common room, Blaise watching her with amusement. "It's _Muggle._ There is absolutely no reason for us to be celebrating this."

"But it's _fun_ ," Tracey objected. "When else would we get to send valentines to people?"

"Valentines are juvenile and trivial," Hermione said firmly. Tracey looked aghast.

"It's such _fun_ , though," Tracey repeated. "It's _nice_ to have Valentine's Day! It helps cheer everybody up after the dreariness of the winter."

"That's what _Beltane_ is for," Hermione snapped, and she noticed Draco stick his head up, looking at her. A couple other of the Slytherins did too.

"Beltane isn't widely celebrated anymore," Blaise commented from her side, examining his nails. "Wizards say some of the traditional rituals are archaic and dark. More of them celebrate Easter, now."

" _Another_ Muggle holiday?" Hermione couldn't believe it. "Yule and Christmas are so close in tradition that I can understand, and Samhain and Halloween are fairly close as well, but _Easter?_ This is ridiculous."

"Aren't they your holidays, though, Hermione?" Pansy's simpering voice made Hermione twitch, even before she saw the pug-faced girl emerge from the crowd. "Didn't you grow up with them?"

Hermione gave her a dark look. "You'll notice _I'm_ not the one celebrating them."

She gave a lingering look up and down Pansy, who was wearing a black sweater with pink hearts on it. Pansy flushed and glared at her.

"It's not like you'll get any valentines, anyway," she sniffed, stalking over to the other side of the common room.

Hermione ignored her and turned to Blaise.

"Am I really expected to participate in this farce?" she demanded. "What are the wizarding rules regarding a Muggle holiday?"

Blaise shrugged.

"It's my first time at Hogwarts, too," he reminded her. "How should I know?"

"People generally only send things to people they fancy."

Adrian Pucey emerged from seemingly nowhere, plopping down in a chair to Hermione's right. She stared at him, and he grinned.

"You were asking quite loudly," he said, and Hermione's face colored.

"So I don't have to get my friends anything?" she asked.

"You might send your closest friends something small, if they're of the opposite gender," Adrian clarified. "You wouldn't send Tracey something, for example, but you might send Blaise something."

Blaise shot her a grin, while Tracey nodded knowingly.

"That makes sense," she agreed. "To acknowledge the love of a friendship, but not push it to something more."

"You'd send something fancier, like chocolate or flowers, to a _real_ valentine," Adrian told her. "You generally send chocolates to a boy. They don't care for flowers as much."

"Fair enough," Hermione sighed. "I can probably do that. It's on Saturday, right?"

"It's _this Friday_ , Hermione!" Tracey's voice was almost shrill. "How can you forget that?!"

"Because it's dumb," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and getting to her feet. "I guess I'll go figure this nonsense out."

Blaise was snickering as she left the common room, but Hermione could feel Draco's eyes tracking her as she went back to her room.

Just what was his deal, she wondered. Did he take personal offense to her not liking Valentine's Day?

She snorted. It wasn't like he was about to send her a valentine, anyway.

She began rifling through her things, her remark about Beltane forgotten.


	45. Valentine's Day

The morning of Valentine's Day dawned faint and cloudy, and noisy, the sound of chattering and giggling everywhere. Hermione was immensely glad for Potions that afternoon – Professor Snape would put a stop to that nonsense _fast_.

The Great Hall was cluttered with owls at breakfast, swooping down all over the place. Hermione watched to make sure the owl she'd sent dropped off small valentines to Harry, Ron, and Neville – she'd sent them each a chocolate frog and a small card. She did the same for all the boys in her house. There was no need to create drama when it was easy enough to avoid.

She'd also sent a gift to herself – an anonymous delivery of daffodils, that she'd snuck out and clipped from one of the student greenhouses this morning. She acted surprised at the delivery, while Tracey exclaimed over the romance of a secret admirer.

Hermione was surprised to receive _actual_ Valentines, though. Harry had sent her a box of muggle candy hearts, and Neville a box of chocolate cauldron cakes. Even Ron had sent a card, which she supposed let him off the hook for now. But the Valentines didn't just stop there.

Blaise had sent her a cupid made of chocolate, signed " _This was perfect for you. I know how much you love the symbolism of the holiday,"_ which had Hermione hitting his arm and Blaise laughing at her, her face red and embarrassed. Theo had sent her a chocolate frog (another exact gift trade), and she'd been surprised that Adrian Pucey had also sent her something – a small chocolate heart, about the size of a chocolate frog.

She was just rearranging her books in her bag to make sure she could fit everything in without crushing them when two large owls swooped down, both carrying large packages. One dropped in front of Pansy, the second in front of Hermione, just where her breakfast plate had been.

Pansy shot her a dark look, tearing into hers and exclaiming at the large box of chocolates, signed " _from a secret admirer."_ Hermione caught her glare, and she wondered if Pansy had been up to the same trick she had – she couldn't imagine anyone _actually_ fancying Pansy.

Her own gift was an enormous heart-shaped box of chocolates, bouquet of flowers, and bracelet from Anthony Goldstein. There was a card, filled with inside-jokes and teasing her, signed with a large flourish – no anonymity about it.

Hermione tucked one of the flowers in her hair, but she avoided touching the bracelet.

"This is a public setting," Hermione hissed to Millie. "What is he doing?"

Millie came closer and examined it.

"This wouldn't count as a gift of jewelry," she said. "It's made of elastic and small, cheap heart charms – steel and colored glass, I think."

"Still," Hermione said quietly. "What's he playing at, sending me this?"

Millie shrugged. "Flirting?"

"We're _twelve."_

"You never wanted to play grown-up?" Millie smirked at her. "He's probably curious what you'll do with it. I don't think he expects you to wear it."

In the end, Hermione doubled the stretchy bracelet around the bouquet to hold it together like a rubber-band, as if that was its purpose all along. Tracey and Millie were smirking as they followed Hermione back to the dorm room to stash her valentines and put her flowers in a vase.

"The cloak was enough," Tracey said. "What would Goldstein have done if you'd worn the bracelet?"

"Either had a heart attack or danced a jig," Millie said, "depending on if he was serious or not."

"Shut _up_ ," Hermione snapped. "Some of the others got jewelry."

"Victoria Vaisey did, and she's been cradle-betrothed to Terrence Higgs since forever," Millie said. "If she _didn't_ get jewelry from him, it would have been a slight."

"Plus, she's the year above us," Tracey added. "You're the only one first-year who got jewelry."

"Millie said it didn't count," Hermione said curtly. "Cheap colored glass and elastic. Doesn't count."

Tracey shrugged, smirking.

"Might not count as a courting gift," she said, "but it still sends a message, doesn't it?"

She and Millie cackled as Hermione dumped her gifts on her bed and ran back out to head toward their next class.

"Ridiculous holiday," Hermione muttered. "I'm glad all that's over with."

However, when Hermione arrived at Potions, there was a small box on her seat.

Turning over the tag, there was no indication of a sender, only the word "Hermione" written in a beautiful script on one side. Carefully looking out for Snape, Hermione opened the box.

There was a beautiful glass butterfly – a monarch butterfly, from the look of it. It was beautiful. Hermione took it out and examined it, surprised at the detail. The color seemed to shimmer almost magically in the torchlight, and, suspecting something, Hermione gently tapped it with her wand.

The butterfly seemed to come to life, fluttering around her in the air, its crystal wings catching the light and glittering. Hermione smiled despite herself, charmed. It was lovely.

After a minute or two, the butterfly landed back on the desk, and Hermione carefully put it back into the box and into a side pocket in her bag. She didn't want it getting accidentally crushed.

A few minutes later, the rest of her classmates joined her in setting up for Potions class. Theo hissed at her, demanding to know why she was smiling, but Hermione just shook her head and kept smiling.

It was a lovely gift, and perfect for her. Much better (and longer lasting) than a box of teeth-rotting chocolates.


	46. Pansy

Hermione quickly came to the conclusion that the books Quirrell had recommended to her were utterly fascinating, incredibly detailed, and very, _very_ inappropriate for her to be reading. While Snape's book had explained the basics of rituals and what they could do, Quirrell's were more about destroying your enemies from afar in terrible, traumatic ways without them ever knowing you were doing it. Hermione was shocked that the library even _had_ such books. Given their age, she wondered if they'd been legacy-ed in, somehow. If she were a librarian and had ancient, valuable books, she doubted she'd want to give them up, regardless of what they were about.

Despite the books' help, it became obvious to Hermione that a ritual would _not_ work in dealing with Pansy. Everything the books suggested was extreme and incredibly malicious. Hermione just wanted to scare Pansy and humiliate her a bit – not _kill_ her.

Pansy's barbs had been getting steadily worse. It wasn't just the insulting gift or the barbs about Muggle holidays, but the sneering remarks in the evenings had returned, and the scoffing at everything she did like she was lesser. Pansy hadn't gone so far as to flat-out call her a Muggleborn or a Mudblood, but Hermione wouldn't be surprised if she did soon – she'd certainly been hinting around it for weeks. Whatever shock and careful wariness Pansy had developed after seeing her unscathed the day after the bullying incident had long since worn off, and Hermione had had enough.

Hermione had gotten the idea to craft some sort of illusion to make Pansy's blood look like mud, and then arrange for her to get hurt somehow. Then when she was bleeding, everyone would see Pansy was bleeding, and that her blood looked like mud, and Hermione could make some sort of smart quip, and Pansy would run off crying, and her classmates would look at her with a new respect.

…It all made sense in her head, anyway.

Illusion spells were definitely _not_ something Hermione could manage, though, she'd reluctantly discovered, and she couldn't expect to for a few years. Like glamours, they required a continued use of intense magical power – much more than she had. She considered hiring the Weasley Twins to craft something for her, but that felt too much like cheating. This was an internal Slytherin matter – she needed to keep it to inside Slytherin.

It was through searching in the library, scanning the stacks of books the card catalogue had produced when she gave it the subject "blood", that Hermione came upon a possible plan. It wouldn't be as good as making Pansy's blood appear like it was mud, but it _might_ work, if she got everything to be timed right.

As Hermione considered the idea further, gnawing on a quill, it gained further merit. Even the potential problems she could see with it could be turned in her favor.

All that was left would be to master the spells, pick a time and place, and come up with her smart remark.

Hermione smirked and got to work.

* * *

Hermione chose a Tuesday morning, before Herbology, justifying that it was the most likely class where Pansy could conceivably get hurt. She'd heard from the Gryffindors that they would be pruning things, which made it even better.

Hermione awoke extra early on Tuesday, dressed herself, and stood over Pansy's bed. Pansy's face was smoothed out in her sleep; she looked innocent without her usual sneer. Hermione bit her lip, but she firmed her resolve, her mind playing back Pansy's cutting remarks. Hermione carefully whispered a spell, drawing her wand deliberately through the air, and the spell settled over Pansy. As the light dissipated, Pansy and the others were still sleeping, none of them the wiser.

She crept out of the dorm room and went to breakfast early. To her surprise, a few other students were in the Great Hall; mostly OWL and NEWT students reading over their food, but a scattering of others. Hermione recognized Mandy Brocklehurst at the Ravenclaw table, and with a quick inquiry and replied invitation, she joined her, pulling out her own book to read.

Hermione had been spending more time outside of the Slytherin common room lately, either with Harry and Neville (and Ron, sometimes), or with her Ravenclaw friends. She would occasionally meet with Tracey, Millie, and Blaise outside of Slytherin too, giving the excuse of needing some light or warmth. It didn't take a genius to know that Hermione was sick of the barbed remarks she still got from a lot of the older students, or that Pansy was wearing on Hermione's last nerve. Her Slytherin friends tactfully never mentioned it, her Gryffindor friends railed against the injustice, and her Ravenclaw friends seemed genuinely puzzled by it – why would blood matter so much, if it was obvious Hermione was smart and had magic power?

As other students slowly filtered in, Hermione stayed with her peers in Ravenclaw, many of whom were reading while eating as well. It seemed more natural than leaving and going over to the Slytherin table – and what did where someone sat matter anyway? Anthony Goldstein grinned at her as he came in, helping himself to some toast, but it wasn't until Terry Boot came in that people started conversing.

"Hermione," he said, nodding. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Good morning," Hermione returned, offering a shrug. "I didn't feel like getting my heritage insulted again this morning. I hope you don't mind."

"Never," Anthony reassured her with a smile. "We all know the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you, Hermione."

Hermione laughed and let herself blush a bit, and Anthony looked pleased.

"I've been thinking," Terry announced. "Why do people call Muggle-borns 'Mudbloods' anyway?"

Mandy gasped and shot Terry a dirty look, while Michael looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"That's rude," Mandy hissed at him. "They call them that because they're prejudiced morons."

"No, no, no," Terry said, waving his hand. "I mean the term. _Mudblood_. It's not like anyone's blood is actually made of mud, is it?"

Hermione immediately understood his point, and she tried to suppress a grin.

"You're right," she said. "It's not like anybody bleeds a different color than any other person." Hermione kept her tone natural, even as she steered the conversation. "The only people that bleed other colors are creatures or part-creatures, like trolls or giants."

"Other creatures bleed different colors?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged, carefully neutral. "Some of them. It depends on the species."

"So where did the term originate, then?" Terry wanted to know. "It's got to be from somewhere."

Hermione took a backseat as the conversation continued. Anthony said he didn't know; it was probably just a combination of the start of 'Muggle-born' combined with blood. Michael Corner suggested something more unique – the muggle creation myth had muggles being made of dirt and clay. Perhaps that was the start of the term?

It was interesting being able to academically discuss the topic with everyone keeping the conversation purely academic – no grandstanding about hating Mudbloods or sneering at all. The only emotion that came into it at all was a concerned side-eye from Anthony, who had glanced at Hermione, then at Pansy, before returning to the conversation. It was all very theoretical and curious, and Hermione found herself enjoying the conversation much more than she intended.

When the time came for Herbology, the Ravenclaws and Slytherins headed down to the greenhouses together. Tracey and Millie fell into step next to Hermione, just in front of the Ravenclaws, who had gone on to discuss trolls.

"Trolls have a thicker, greenish-tinted blood," Terry said. "I think it's from copper. But I have no idea why."

"Different creatures get oxygen to their body in different ways, I think," Mandy said. "My cousin's a healer and told me. Humans' just happens to be bright red. That's all."

Hermione couldn't believe her luck. She did her best to school her face into a mask of indifference as they all filed into the greenhouse.

"Trimming today!" Professor Sprout chirped, coming into the greenhouse and clapping her hands. "Everyone take a set of trimmers, and _carefully_ prune your Ameanello plants! Be careful – the vines will have grown thorns by now!"

Hermione quickly grabbed a pair of shears, aiming for one of the newer sets. She was pleased to see Pansy got one of the older pairs, as Pansy sniffed in derision.

The class quickly settled into a rhythm, talking quietly and pruning the plants, which had grown into sprawling messes. The vines needed cut off from where they were strangling the leaves, and they were curled all around themselves. Each plant was like a tangled necklace with spikes. Hermione waited until they were maybe halfway into the class before crouching down, slipping her wand from her sleeve, and taking careful aim at Pansy.

" _Malus Fortuna._ "

Her casting proved true, and Pansy was hit with a dull sickly purple light in her calf. Hermione quickly stood and looked around – it seemed no one had noticed. Pleased, Hermione put her wand away and continued pruning her plant.

She didn't have to wait long for results.

"Ouch!"

Pansy's plant seemed to be attacking her, Hermione mused, watching from the side of her eye. Every time Pansy went to prune off a spiked vine, it seemed to move and stab her arm.

"Ouch! Ow!"

"Do be careful, dear," Professor Sprout said, coming over to worry over Pansy. "The vines can flail if you don't calm your plant down."

"Calm down a _plant_ ," Pansy hissed, after Professor Sprout had moved away. "I swear, the thing's _attacking_ me."

"It's just bad luck, Pansy," Daphne said, clipping her own plant with slow, careful movements.

"It's _not_. This stupid plant is – OWW!"

Hermione's eye flew to the scene just in time to see Pansy fall, clutching her arm. Her trimmers were on the ground next to her, one of the blades bloody – it seemed like she had cut herself.

"I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" Pansy yelped, furious tears clouding her eyes. "This assignment is horrid. Can't these plants fend for themselves in the wild?"

The other students gathered around Pansy, watching, and Professor Sprout hurried over.

"It's okay, dear," she told her. "We'll just fix that scratch right up."

"It's _not_ a scratch," Pansy said, upset. "I'm _wounded_. It's _bleeding._ "

"Move your hand aside, and we'll see what we're dealing with," Professor Sprout said patiently. "You're far from the first to get injured in a greenhouse."

Slowly, Pansy moved her hand aside, and there was a quiet murmur through the crowd.

Hermione objectively assessed Pansy's wound. The cut was large but mostly on the surface, the blade not having gone too deep. It wasn't too bad, but it _was_ bloody – if it weren't for magic, she'd almost certainly have a scar. Hermione watched with satisfaction as Pansy's arm continued to bleed slowly, the whispering behind her growing.

"Why's her blood so dark?"

"That's her _blood?_ "

"What's _wrong_ with her?"

Pansy, for her part, was staring in horror at her own arm. The blood staining her arm was dark – very, _very_ dark. It _was_ still her blood, unfortunately – Hermione hadn't been able to figure out how to transfigure it into mud without killing Pansy. She _had_ , however, found a spell to deoxygenate blood – and laid it as a layer over Pansy's skin. Any blood leaving Pansy's body through her skin would be stripped of its oxygen – leaving it very, very dark, and looking very, very different than the bright red color blood generally turned upon contact with the air.

It had been a complicated spell, with very precise wand movements and pronunciation, but it hadn't required that much magical power. Hermione had practiced on herself for a week until she was sure she'd had it down.

Professor Sprout herself looked rather shaken. She kept examining Pansy's wound, trying to determine the amount of the damage, but she kept getting distracted by the color.

"Does… does it usually look like this when you get hurt, Miss Parkinson?" she asked delicately.

"I don't usually get _hurt_ , Professor." Pansy sneered through her tears. "I don't generally try to cut nasty plants with rusty shears."

The class was talking now, to Hermione's satisfaction. Some were alarmed at what the plant did to Pansy, while others were more of the opinion that it was _Pansy's_ fault the blood was so dark.

"We were literally _just_ talking about this," Terry insisted to Michael. "And we all agreed that human blood is bright red."

"Maybe she's not entirely human, then," Hermione said quietly. Her voice was soft, but pitched to carry, and the other students quieted a little.

Pansy's eyes flew to Hermione, a note of terror in them, and Hermione felt a satisfaction in watching her.

"You think?" Blaise said, stepping up next to her. "It _is_ awful dark, for blood…"

"Maybe Pansy's not such a pureblood after all," Hermione murmured. "With blood like that…" she trailed off, looking resigned. "…who's to say she belongs in the Sacred 28 at all?"

There was a quiet gasp, and Hermione caught a glimpse of Daphne looking at Pansy with wide eyes, her hands over her mouth. Crabbe and Goyle both looked confused, but surprised.

"I'm sure there's nothing special about this injury," Professor Sprout snapped, helping Pansy to her feet. "Up! Up. Hospital wing for you."

"There's nothing special about her _injury_ ," Theo snorted. "There's something special about her _blood_. What she _calls_ 'blood'."

"Five points from Slytherin," Professor Sprout said curtly. "Go back to your plant trimming. Pansy, with me. I'll walk you to the castle."

They all drifted back to their plants, everyone watching Sprout help Pansy to the castle – apparently, she'd fallen on her leg in a painful way, and she was limping now.

"Normal blood doesn't look like that," Terry Boot insisted, hissing. "What's going on with her?"

"Maybe it's just… I don't know," Mandy said, looking distressed. "I mean, do we really know what blood looks like?"

"Yes, we do," Hermione said firmly. "Look."

Taking her shears, Hermione cast a sterilization charm on them, a spell she'd gotten from same medical book she'd found the deoxygenating charm in, before she dragged her shears across her arm, tearing open her skin. Those people near her gasped.

"Look," Hermione said, fighting the urge to wince at the pain. "This is normal blood."

She squeezed her arm, and bright red blood pooled on her forearm, sliding off through the crook of her elbow and dripping to the floor.

Anthony looked queasy, while Terry Boot was staring at her blood, fascinated.

"That is _sick,_ " he proclaimed.

Hermione cast _Episkey_ to heal her arm, getting it right on the second try. She wiped her arm off with a handkerchief, tucking it away in her pocket.

"Try it yourself, if you don't believe me," she said, her voice pitched to carry. "I can help you heal any cuts you get. Look at your blood… and then compare it to the 'blood' Pansy had."

Everyone looked slightly uncomfortable, but by the time Professor Sprout returned, everyone was dutifully chopping off spiked vines once more.

Hermione was quietly satisfied when Terry, Theo, Blaise, and Goyle came up to her during class, each muttering an excuse about having an accident with the clippers.

"Good show, Hermione, helping out your classmates like that – and with such an advanced spell!" Professor Sprout said, catching her healing Terry. "Ten points to Slytherin."

When class ended, Hermione hung behind as she gathered her things, listening to the excited murmurs of her classmates. Lunch was next, and Hermione was sure that the gossip would run wild.

"…Hermione?"

Hermione turned, and to her surprise, saw Daphne, who was biting her lip.

"I just… I just had to know," she admitted, holding out her hand. "Will you help?"

There was a small, straight cut on her palm, welling up with bright red blood.

Hermione hid her satisfaction.

 _"Episkey."_

The cut sealed itself, and Hermione wiped off the blood from Daphne's hand. Daphne let out a shaky breath.

"Mine looked like yours," she said, almost to herself.

"And Theo's," Hermione added. "And Blaise's. And Goyle's."

Daphne looked at her, before she nodded slowly.

"Thank you," she said firmly. "It's always better to know."

She hoisted her pack up and headed up to the castle, leaving Hermione as the last one to clear out of the greenhouse, wondering what Daphne thought she now knew.


	47. The Aftermath

Over lunch, rumors were running wild. Pansy still hadn't returned from Madam Pomfrey's, and the gossip was flying.

"I'm telling you, she's a _vampire!_ " Tracey insisted, her eyes wide. "Blood that's alive isn't that color – only _dead_ blood is!"

"Dead blood?" Millie said skeptically, and Tracey blushed.

"I- I've gotten my cycle," she said. "The blood that comes out then is darker, and dead. Pansy's blood looked like that."

Tracey had gotten her period, Hermione noted absently. She still had to look into that – and probably should do it soon. If she did the math, and it turned out the optimal time to start her own had already passed…

"It's pretty clear that Pansy's part troll," Blaise said, his eyes sparkling. "Green and red would make a really dark color – they're opposites. Part green for troll, part red for human."

Hermione didn't participate in the conversation, choosing instead to focus on her food and on not letting a smile slip across her lips as she eavesdropped.

"…so of course she wouldn't tell anyone that her grandmother was actually-"

"My grandmother was a _what_ , Zabini?"

Pansy's voice cracked across the table like a whip, and the gossip stopped, everyone turning to look at Pansy.

Pansy had a large bandage over her arm, but otherwise seemed fine. Her hands were on her hips, and she was glaring. Tracey cowered slightly behind Hermione.

Blaise, to his credit, didn't flinch.

"A troll, Pansy," he told her. "We were theorizing that your grandmother was a troll."

Pansy sniffed and pushed her way onto the bench in her usual seat next to Draco.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life," she dismissed. "Everyone knows my grandmother."

"Your _alleged_ grandmother," Blaise baited. "It's entirely possible that your grandmother was infertile, your grandfather sired a child on a troll, and then they claimed the baby as the Parkinson heir."

Pansy shot him a nasty look, and Blaise looked triumphant.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with my blood," Pansy snapped. "After Madame Pomfrey helped me out, my blood was the normal color again."

The matron must have cast a _Finite Incantatum_ , Hermione mused. It made sense – best not to start healing spells without making sure you were dealing with a clean slate.

"Whatever weird sap was on that plant must have caused my blood to look weird, is all," Pansy sniffed.

"You cut yourself with the trimmers though, didn't you Pansy?" Hermione said quietly. "Your cut wasn't from the plant."

The table fell silent, their classmates looking between the two.

Pansy sneered at Hermione. "There must have been sap on the trimmers, then."

"How interesting," Hermione mused. She turned to Goyle. "I believe you got cut with your trimmers as well during class."

Goyle looked at her stupidly, before comprehending and nodding.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Twice."

"And what color was your blood…?"

Goyle looked at Pansy, then looked back to Hermione.

"Normal," he grunted. "Bright red. _Human._ "

Hermione let her eyes drift back over to Pansy, who was flushed with anger.

"We'll test it right now, then," Pansy challenged. "We'll both cut ourselves, Granger. We'll see who has the normal blood."

"A brave proposal," Hermione said. "However…"

She let the word linger on the air, and her classmates leaned closer.

"…you've been gone for quite a while, haven't you?" Hermione suggested. "Who's to say you haven't found some illusion to make your blood look normal?"

Pansy's face went an unflattering shade of mottled red with rage.

"It's only when it's truly unexpected that we can see the truth of what something is," Hermione continued. "That's why the Ministry does random audits, random inspections. And when your blood was randomly tested, it came up… _lacking_."

"I do not have dirty blood!" Pansy yelled.

The rest of the Slytherin table fell silent, even the 7th years looking down the table to see Pansy kneeling on her seat, glaring at Hermione.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Dear me, Pansy," she said, her voice slightly mocking. "I don't believe I said a word about your blood being _dirty_. I just said it was _different_." She paused, tilting her head. "I wonder why you were thinking we thought your blood was dirty…? Guilty conscience, perhaps...?"

Pansy glared at her, before grabbing her things and angrily storming off from the lunch table. Hermione allowed a small smirk to curl at the sides of her lips – that was a forfeit in a battle of wits if there ever was one.

After Pansy left, conversation gradually returned. Theo and Blaise were discussing Pansy quietly, as were Millie, Tracey, and even Daphne. Hermione contented herself with eavesdropping and enjoying her lunch. The food tasted richer today, for some reason – sweeter, better.

As she looked up to claim a roll, her eyes met Draco's, and she paused.

Draco's eyes were boring into her. He'd clearly waited for her to look up to make eye contact. She waited, before Draco finally raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hermione raised her own eyebrow in return, allowing a small smirk to curl around her lips. Let him make of that what he would.

Draco's own eyes widened, before he jerked his head, nodding once, decisively, and returning to his own lunch and interrupting Goyle to correct him on some trivial matter.

Hermione wondered if she'd just confirmed Draco's suspicions, somehow, or if he just thought her mean. It was well known that she and Pansy didn't get along – of course Hermione would take advantage of Pansy's accident in such a way.

Still, though. Hermione got the feeling that somehow, Draco knew she was to blame for Pansy's odd blood appearance, though there was absolutely no way he could know how it had been done.


	48. The Other Math

To Hermione's delight, Pansy stopped making snide remarks at her and appeared subdued. Her friendship with Daphne even seemed strained, which Hermione enjoyed taking advantage of by talking to Daphne more and learning about her. It was interesting to hear about what one of the Sacred 28 grew up with – the deportment lessons, the dancing classes, the etiquette, on and on and on. Part of Hermione was keeping a mental list and dreading everything she'd have to learn to fit into high society, but she couldn't help but find it fascinating.

The incident at that lunch had also reminded Hermione of something; Tracey had mentioned she'd gotten her cycle, when she was describing dead blood. And Snape had said something about a witch's power growing exponentially from that point on.

It was a very tedious afternoon Hermione spent one day, plugging in different hypothetical numbers, trying to find what would be the best month to purposefully have her period between age 11 and age 17. If a witch's power began growing at 11, in a linear fashion, and then would begin growing exponentially at some point _X_ between age 11 and 17, and stop growing at age 17, at what value of _X_ was the maximum final result? It was incredibly frustrating for Hermione. She didn't know the math necessary to make an equation to solve it, and she finally went off in search of a Prefect, who directed her to Professor Vector.

Professor Vector was a tall woman with long black hair, pale skin, and red robes, and she was pleasant woman whose eyes lit up at the prospect of a puzzle. Hermione explained her dilemma, without referring to why she was trying to find this out or her ultimate goal at all – just maximizing the final result, as if a slider being adjusted, growing linearly and then exponentially. Professor Vector accepted this as completely normal, and Hermione wondered if she was the type of person who entertained herself with complicated math questions in her mind regularly.

The woman scribbled out a few equations, solving them rapidly one after the other after the other. Hermione watched, not recognizing some of the operators in the equations at all. Whatever math Professor Vector was using, Hermione wasn't able to follow, but it was interesting nonetheless.

"Arithmancy is usually used for prediction trees, but it can be used without magic for this sort of thing," Professor Vector told her. "In your 3rd year, Arithmancy is an additional course you can sign up for."

"It looks hard," Hermione admitted. "I don't know anything beyond Algebra, but I was always good at it. You can make prediction trees?"

Professor Vector nodded. "We use the math to create formulas, and then magic to help create statistics and values of real-world things, turning them into constants to plug in. The equation then gives us the likelihood of outcomes. It's used mostly for spell crafting and curse breaking."

Hermione found the idea fascinating.

The answer Professor Vector gave her was 18 – 18 months after she'd turned 11 would be the optimal time to have her period, to maximize her potential power output. Hermione counted, and quickly realized that she was in her 17th month already – with no period to speak of, and it didn't seem inclined to be coming any time soon. She thanked Professor Vector profusely, promising to sign up for her class in third year.

Hermione went up to the Ravenclaw common room to think, idly answering a riddle on her way in. She picked her favorite window seat and looked out over the grounds, her mind racing.

Could she _purposefully_ have her period early…?

This, more than anything, felt like cheating. Forcing her body to mature faster than it wanted to in order to maximize her magical potential felt akin to athletes taking performance-enhancing drugs. But still… now that she _knew_ , she couldn't _not_ do it. It would be monumentally unfair, if after everything she'd done, to end up _not_ being a powerful witch by a quirk of genetics or chance. She couldn't _not_ look into this. Not when failing here could ruin everything. Not when it would affect her for the rest of her life.

But… to _force_ her period to come?

How?

Hermione's mother had had her period come early one month, once; she always told the story with a grin. She'd been at an earthy, female-only New Age camping gathering in her twenties, and the mosquitoes had been fierce. It being a New Age gathering, the women hadn't been about to use mosquito spray, so they'd all used pennyroyal oil, rubbing it on themselves to ward off the bugs. Within two days, all of the women attending had unexpectedly gotten their period, and they had subsequently learned _all_ the effects of pennyroyal oil, in addition to repelling bugs. Her mother joked that they called it the Mass Menstruation of the Midlands, and Hermione had always giggled and declared it gross.

Hermione could owl her mother and ask for a bottle of pennyroyal oil. But… would that even _work?_ Surely pennyroyal oil would only work if she'd already _started_ her cycle? Otherwise, there'd be nothing for her uterus to expel, would there?

Hermione sighed and made a note to owl her mother just in case, but she resolved to keep looking. There had to be a better way, and she was rapidly running out of time.


	49. Asking an Adult

The better way, Hermione determined, was to ask an adult.

She'd gone to Madam Pomfrey first, who had dramatically misunderstood Hermione's careful questions about what caused a witch's first period. Hermione came away with an armful of sanitary supplies and a few pamphlets about how her body was changing and how to take care of herself during her period, but no information on how to make her period _start._

She'd considered going to Professor Snape to ask before considering the facial expression he'd had when the subject had been brought up. They'd been talking about research only he was privy to – and he'd shortly thereafter mentioned that the other secret information he had (how to fly) had been told to him by the Dark Lord. It probably wouldn't be a good idea, she decided, to tell him she wanted to forcibly start her cycle to gain more power, when that knowledge _probably_ came from a Dark source. And any magic to do with blood was dodgy – a lot of wizards classified anything to do with blood that wasn't obviously healing magic as "Dark" without a second thought.

She then considered asking Professor McGonagall, before realizing that McGonagall would want to know _why_ , which would reveal things that Hermione didn't really want to discuss. She'd probably be especially worried – Hermione had learned that blood, especially menstrual blood, had been a component in a lot of old rituals. And Hermione _liked_ Professor McGonagall. She didn't want her to think she was a Dark witch.

Which had led Hermione to this.

She sighed.

"Professor Quirrell?"

"Y-y-yes, Miss G-g-granger?"

Quirrell looked up at her as she approached his desk after class, the rest of the students filing out, chattering. She waited until they were all gone before pausing, taking a deep breath, and steadying her resolve.

"I was wondering if you knew of a way to make a young witch start her period. To start her menstruating."

The shock on Quirrell's face was obvious, his jaw going slack and his eyes large. He gaped at her for a moment, before an odd look came over his face, and his face was rapidly pulled under control, his eyes looking at her calculatingly.

"Eager, are you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione didn't quite know how to answer that one. She was absolutely _not_ eager to get her period – it sounded like a hassle she'd have to deal with the rest of her life, and if she got the choice, she'd rather not have one at all – but the magical benefits of getting it _soon_ were too real to deny.

"Academic curiosity," Hermione said, keeping her voice light. "New research shows that women who start their periods later in life are more likely to have fertility difficulties. Medicine interests me, and I wondered what could help witches with such issues."

That was a stretch – women who didn't have periods until after 16 were at a _marginally_ higher risk of such things. Hermione hoped Quirrell wasn't familiar with Muggle studies.

Quirrell was looking at her. He again raised an eyebrow.

"Miss Granger."

His voice was low, smooth, and utterly unlike Quirrell's normal voice. There was something hidden in it, something powerful, and Hermione shivered.

"Miss Granger. Tell me why you want this knowledge. Tell me _honestly_ ," he told her quietly, "and I might tell you what you wish to know."

 _He has disassociative identity disorder_ , Hermione thought faintly. _There is no way this is the Quirrell who teaches me Defense_.

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I learned that magical power grows linearly, and then exponentially, as a witch grows," she started tentatively. "I wanted-"

"Where have you heard of such knowledge?" Quirrell snapped, and Hermione froze.

"Um. Professor Snape let it slip. I was talking to him about- I think it was about exercises to increase my power, and he-"

"You are actively exercising your power to increase it?"

Hermione looked up at Quirrell, his eyes narrowed on her.

"…yes," Hermione admitted. "I want to be a very powerful witch when I grow up. The _most_ powerful, if I can pull it off."

Quirrell continued to look at her with sharp eyes. Uneasy, Hermione continued on.

"Anyway, Professor Snape said that when a witch starts her cycle, her power reserves begin to grow exponentially, instead of just linearly, and I-"

"You are in your eighteenth month?" Quirrell finished for her, his lips twisting into a disturbing smile. "You turned eleven eighteen months ago?"

Hermione stared at him.

"Ah—this is my seventeenth, actually," she said faintly. "March will be my eighteenth. I- ah- I guess you've read the research and did the math yourself-?"

"I am familiar with this research," he said, his eyes glittering at her. "Unfortunately, it was not available when I was a young wizard, or I would have availed myself of such knowledge too."

Hermione froze.

Quirrell, previously the _Muggle Studies_ teacher, was _aware_ of _secret knowledge_ Snape had gotten _directly from the Dark Lord?_

Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself, exhaling carefully.

Hermione looked to Quirrell, trying her best to keep calm and betray nothing. She was a Slytherin, she was as emotionless as a rock, and she was unafraid. She was just asking a Professor for help with a problem, that was all. Nothing else was going on here.

"…I want to make sure I start my cycle in my eighteenth month," Hermione said. She bit her lip, looking at him. "And- you have familiarity with rituals. I wondered if there was one that you knew of that I could use?"

Quirrell looked at her, hard. Hermione fought the urge to squirm.

"There is," he said abruptly. He reached for a drawer in his desk, finally breaking eye contact, and Hermione exhaled in quiet relief. "It is not exactly intended for what you want it for, but it will work."

He pulled a slip of parchment from his desk, writing the name of a book on it and signing it.

"It will be in Chapter 8, if I remember correctly," he told her. "If anyone asks, you are doing an extra credit project on what makes hags different from humans."

Hermione didn't know the first thing about hags, but she nodded earnestly.

"Do not let others see you seeking power so openly," Quirrell warned her, his voice suddenly cold. "Ambition in Slytherin is a source of pride, but craving magical power… people will begin to whisper about you."

Hermione nodded. She considered for a moment, before letting her eyes meet his once more.

"I know. There was a reason I came to you," she admitted, her voice quiet. "I knew you'd understand."

Quirrell looked thrown by that, and Hermione felt a flash of satisfaction.

"…you were clever, in your choice, then," he said. He stood, and Hermione took the slip from him and gathered her books, recognizing her implied dismissal.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Y-y-you are welcome, Miss G-g-granger." Quirrell paused. "B-but I would get that book quickly, if I were you." His lips twisted again. "You are very literally running out of time."

Hermione would try to reassure herself later that she'd managed to walk very calmly out of the Defense classroom, but it had felt very much as if she'd given in to the urge to flee.


	50. The Dark Arts

"Professor Snape?"

Professor Snape looked up at her from his place at his desk in his office. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his marking, but it wasn't sharp enough to be a rebuke, so Hermione entered his office and closed the door behind her.

Snape continued to ignore her, but Hermione was content to look around the room, swinging her legs. She peered at the essay Snape was slashing red ink all over – about antidotes of some sort? It was hard to read the handwriting upside-down.

"…do you grade all the essays like that?" she asked.

Snape gave her a curt look.

"Are you implying I might favor the Slytherins over other houses to the point of academic dishonesty?" Snape's tone was dark.

"What? No!" Hermione exclaimed. "I mean, I've never gotten an essay back from you with that many comments all over it. I wondered if it's only something you do with the older years."

Snape continued writing, but Hermione could see his shoulders ease. "In that case, Miss Granger, the answer is 'no', but for reasons other than the ones you presume." With a flourish, he finished grading and set his quill down, his eyes meeting hers, glinting. "I grade _bad_ essays in such a manner."

"Oh." Hermione nibbled her lip. "So… if there aren't many mistakes…"

"You have few remarks on your essays, Miss Granger, because yours are well-reasoned, well-constructed, and don't have grammatical or spelling errors," Snape said dryly. "Comments on your essays are often notes for things for you to consider next time – not something your essay was _lacking_ , necessarily, but something additional on the topic you might want to incorporate in the future. In case you were in need of further references for footnotes in the future."

Hermione colored. Snape smirked.

"Your classmates, however, did not graduate from whatever essay-writing program you did, and they do not read and cite half of the library to complete their homework. _They_ get corrections marked, and comments that are more critical than constructive." Snape looked at the remaining stack of essays he had on his desk, before pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. "However, I doubt you came here to ask questions about my grading – you've been doing well in my class."

Hermione nodded. "I- ah- I wanted to ask you a potentially sensitive question."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Hermione hesitated. "I tried to look this up, but I couldn't find anything firm, and I wondered if this is one of those things that's just unstated and understood in the wizarding world, that I didn't know-"

"Miss Granger, cease your needless prattling and disclaimers," Snape said, sitting back in his chair. "I will answer your question. What is it?"

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating.

"What is Dark magic?"

Snape froze. Hermione swallowed.

"I will answer your question," Snape said finally. "But first – why are you _asking_ this question?"

Hermione nodded slowly. That seemed reasonable.

"A lot of books talk about how the Dark Arts are seductive and can tempt people into sinking further and further into the Dark without realizing it," Hermione said. "I can't find any formal definition of what a 'Dark Art' _is_ , though. And if Dark Arts are seductive and tempting, how will I know what I'm supposed to avoid if I can't recognize it on sight?" She glanced up at Snape, but his face was stony, unmoving. "I mean, I can mostly look at something and think 'That's a bad thing to do; I shouldn't do that', but I don't know if there's anything _more_ to it, and at this point, unless I get a book called _Introduction to the Dark Arts_ or some other such reference from the library, I don't think I'm going to be able to _find_ a formal definition-"

Snape held up a hand, and Hermione stopped rambling. He looked at her for a long moment, before he sighed.

"Of course you would want a formal definition," he said. His voice was tired. "Just 'stay away from the Dark Arts' wouldn't be enough for you."

"How can I stay away from it if I don't know what it _is?_ " Hermione reasoned.

" _Enough_ , Miss Granger." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will tell you."

Hermione carefully hid any reaction to his concession. It wouldn't do for him to see her happy at successfully convincing him to talk to her about the Dark Arts.

Snape sat up and folded his hands in front of him on his desk. His eyes glittered.

"Are you looking for the Ministry-defined definition of what the Dark Arts are," he asked, "or what they _actually_ are?"

Hermione swallowed.

"Umm… both?"

Snape's eyes glinted, as if he'd expected her answer. "Indeed."

He stood abruptly, lifting his wand and waving it at a set of his shelves. Hermione watched in surprise as the shelves moved, shifting in front of another set, revealing a chalk board. Snape smirked at her surprise, and Hermione saw him mentally settle into lecture mode.

"There are two popular definitions of what defines the Dark Arts circulating in the public and at the Ministry," Snape said. "The first is: the Dark Arts are magic that hurts someone or that requires something other than just the caster."

The chalk scribbled across the chalkboard, and Hermione watched.

"That's…" Hermione bit her lip. "But that's _wrong._ "

Snape's eyes glinted. "Tell me why."

"A tripping jinx can hurt someone, but I don't think it counts as a Dark Art," Hermione said. "Same with cutting curses. And… summoning things like elementals isn't Dark, it's Grey. You taught me that."

Snape nodded. "Precisely so. Which brings us to the current legal definition."

He waved at the board, and Hermione read as the next definition scrawled itself across the board.

 _The Dark Arts refers to any type of magic that is mainly used to cause harm to, exert control over, or even kill the victim._

Hermione looked at this definition, then to Snape, then back to the board.

"Does this definition meet with your satisfaction, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily.

Hermione tried not to fidget.

"…no, not really," she said finally. "Unless Cutting Curses and Stunning Spells are Dark Arts?"

His eyes gleamed.

"Do you think they are?"

Hermione considered.

"I think they _could_ be, if that's truly what people mean by Dark Arts," Hermione said. "Forcing your will on another person by rendering them unconscious… I can imagine that being considered Dark. But I've read that the Stunning Spell is one of the primary spells Aurors use in defense, so… I think even if it's _technically_ Dark, it can't _really_ be Dark."

Snape nodded slowly, and Hermione let go of a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"You see the difficulty here," he said, waving at the board. "The truth is the Dark Arts are an ever-changing, ever mutable craft. Legal definitions cannot keep up and spell out every variation as it develops." He waved his wand, and the board cleared itself, the bookshelf sliding back into place.

"Ever-changing?" Hermione had a flash of horror, imagining some giant, dark entity secretly corrupting the world. "Are… are they _alive?_ "

"In a fashion." Snape returned to his desk and sat down. "The Dark Arts are alive, Miss Granger, in the sense that _people_ are alive."

Hermione tried to turn that over in her mind.

"The Dark Arts is a term created to explain the corruption of the soul when a person uses certain types of magic," Snape said, his voice soft. "When a person casts a spell to overcome another person, another's will, there is a flash of satisfaction, a dark sense of a flash of power. But it depends _entirely_ on the _intent_ of the person using the magic."

Hermione blinked. "It depends on the _intent?_ "

"It does." Snape sat back in his chair. "Imagine: you are in Defense your O.W.L. year, and there is a practical exercise to practice Stunning Charms on each other. Do you participate?"

"Of course." Hermione couldn't imagine herself _not_ participating in an exercise in class.

"Now: imagine a hated enemy standing atop a set of stairs, with no one else around. Would you cast a Stunning Charm now?"

"No!" Hermione gasped. "They could get a concussion and get really hurt!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you are so opposed to hurting people?" His tone was slightly mocking.

Hermione flushed and looked away. Snape smirked and continued.

"The intent behind the use of the spell is what matters," he said. "If you _were_ to use the Stunning Spell in such a situation, you would discover a dark flash of satisfaction, at seeing your enemy topple, at feeling your power overcome another person. It would feel very different to you than casting the same charm in class would have felt."

" _This_ is the danger of the Dark Arts," Snape said, his black eyes holding hers. "They differ for each person. There are the obvious culprits that are nigh universal – the torture curse, the killing curse, things such as blood-boiling curses – but there are more subtle ones as well. The girl who finds it easy to cast a cutting curse at her classmate as a first year may find it easier to cast another curse, a crueler curse the next year. The memory of the dark whisper of power she felt at casting the first will tempt her to casting another, and another, and another."

Hermione's eyes were wide with horror. "So… I've…?"

"Have you?" Snape questioned, with a shrug. "Have you felt that whisper of power, tempting you? Some of your classmates have – Pansy, certainly. Young Draco and Theo as well, I daresay. It is not unusual. But the whispers of power from childish hexes and jinxes are much less than the rush of power from casting something like the Imperius curse, and less dark and tempting as a result."

Hermione wracked her brain.

"I… I cast a Bad Luck hex on Pansy," Hermione admitted. "I… think that's the closest I've come? I didn't feel a dark rush of anything, though… after my plan worked, I just felt a dark sense of satisfaction. Is that the same thing?"

"It is not, but it might be close," Snape said. "You were motivated by justified revenge, in your mind. As I said, intent and motive is everything. If you had done such a thing unprompted, I suspect you would have had a different experience with the entire thing."

She wouldn't have _done_ it unprompted, Hermione thought furiously. But… maybe that was the point. If Dark roughly equaled "bad", and she didn't do bad things…

"The best way to avoid temptation into the Dark Arts is to ask yourself a few key questions when you find yourself wondering." Snape's eyes glittered in the dim light. "First: why are you doing this thing? Second: what effects does this thing have on others? And third: if there are effects on others, do you have their consent to do such a thing?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip. "So… something like, say… doing a ritual to gain more magical power wouldn't be Dark? So long as it didn't hurt anyone else?"

Snape's eyes sharpened.

"Miss Granger, I begin to grow _alarmed_ at your quest for power at so young an age."

"I just want to grow up to be the _best_ ," Hermione objected vehemently. "If you want to be the best violinist, you practice 10,000 hours before age sixteen. If you want to be the best football player, you practice and practice and make sure you're strong and in great shape before you're old enough to play professionally. If I want to be the best witch around, why is it so absurd I'd be working toward that goal now?"

Snape's lips twisted.

"And what, exactly, do you imagine the position of 'Best Witch' looks like?"

Hermione hesitated.

"I- what?"

"Once you graduate Hogwarts, as the most powerful witch in Britain," Snape said, his eyes glittering. "What do you imagine doing with that particular accolade?"

"I-"

"Do you imagine there is a career path of "Best Witch" out there for you? Or that the Minister of Magic is chosen based on raw magical power?"

"No!" Hermione could feel her face flushing. "I just-"

"You just _what_ , Miss Granger?" Snape drawled.

Hermione drew herself up.

"I want to establish my own Great House," she said firmly.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"And you think great personal power will help you with this goal?"

"It _has_ to," Hermione insisted. "If… If I am very powerful, and people believe that Magic itself touched me, and acknowledge me as New Blood, and if I can assemble a large enough fortune and get a stronghold of some sort…"

Snape laughed, a dark sort of amusement. Hermione shivered.

"You don't just want your place in magical society," he surmised. "You want your place in _History._ "

Hermione bit her lip, but she held her chin high.

"And if I do?" she said, managing to keep a waver out of her tone.

Snape looked down on her for a long moment, before his eyes softened slightly, and the smallest smile touched his lips.

"Then I have much less to worry about you than I feared," he told her.

Hermione blinked. "You do?"

"Miss Granger, the last person to be so determined to accumulate mass amounts of raw power was the Dark Lord himself," Snape told her, settling back in his chair. "He respected power above all else, and the desire and ambition for more of it. He tempted people to join him with promises of learning forgotten magics and forbidden powers. To see another person, so determinedly trying to become very powerful… there were certain similarities even I could not deny."

Hermione's mouth was dry. She couldn't even think to object.

"I- another Dark Lord?" she croaked.

"Dark _Lady_ , but yes, the potential was there," Snape said. " _Is_ there. A small chance, I considered, given your friendship with students in other houses, but a chance nonetheless. Knowing you are merely a perfectionist and want to maximize the gain you get from Hogwarts while you are here simply because _that is who you are_ … I am much less concerned now, I find."

"I can't believe you thought I might grow up to be a Dark Lady," Hermione repeated, moaning. "Do I seem so evil?"

Snape smirked.

"Slytherin is the house of the ambitious, Miss Granger; I watch all my snakes for signs of what they are ambitious for," he told her. "Young Malfoy wants to restore his family name and have a dynasty of power over magical Britain. Miss Parkinson wants nothing more than to become a society wife who moves and gossips in the circles of the powerful. Crabbe and Goyle just want to attach themselves to someone else powerful – they want to be powerful but are savvy enough to know that they'll never get there themselves, and they need someone else to tell them what to do. Most of your classmates only have vague goals at this point, and their ambitions will firm up as they grow up."

Hermione stared at him.

"So… what's my ambition, then?" she asked.

Snape gave her a look.

"You want to become all you can be," he said simply. "Right now, you envision that as meaning establishing your own Great House, but once you achieve that, I suspect you will find yourself not satisfied and wanting to do something more. Your goal, Miss Granger, is to reach your full potential, simply because you can."

Hermione looked at him, but Snape's face was impassive. There was no judgement on his face, no condemnation in his eyes for her being a perfectionist, no snide remarks about her being power-hungry, no further concern about her turning Dark.

"Do you think I can do it, sir?"

Snape's eyes glittered.

" _Can_ do it, perhaps. _Will_ you do it?" he said. He raised an eyebrow, and gave her a mocking shrug of his shoulders. "That remains to be seen."

"But you think it's possible?" Hermione repeated, her heart lifting. "You think it's possible? For me to found a Great House?"

Snape gave her an exasperated look.

"Are you so bereft of praise that you must plead with me for it?" he demanded. " _Yes,_ Miss Granger. If you continue on the path you have been on, you very well might change the entire Wizarding World. Is that what you so desperately needed to hear?"

His caustic words bounced right off of her, and Hermione realized she was smiling, part of herself feeling somehow reassured.

"But not if you continue to linger in my office and inhibit me doing my marking," Snape said curtly. "Then your body will be found drained in the dungeons under the lake, your blood the main component of my new ink."

Though his dismissal was a dramatic and particularly gory threat, Hermione found herself laughing as she left his office, closing the door behind her.


	51. Quidditch Worries

The weather at Hogwarts turned wet, and Hermione found herself frustrated and trapped inside. She could hardly hide behind the castle and practice flying when it was raining – it was hard _enough_ to practice with just herself. Adding water and wind would be a disastrous combination.

Hermione found herself brooding in the upper levels of the castle, thinking hard about what Snape had told her. Her memories of the older Slytherins cursing her and kicking her on the floor of the dungeons replayed themselves over and over in her mind, and Hermione had to admit to herself that she was desperate to be more powerful, to be able to protect herself. The ritual Quirrell had given her... it _seemed_ like it might be Dark, but under Snape's definition...

"I am doing this thing to gain more power," Hermione murmured to herself, watching the rain from a window. "It affects only myself, and I have my own full consent."

That settled, she endeavored to put the matter from her mind.

Hermione spent more time with Neville and Harry, helping them master the Mending Charm. Neither of them was very good at it – Neville had issues with getting the power needed for all the magical stitches needed out smoothly, instead of erratic bursts, and Harry's mends kept falling apart after a few moments. Both of them had seemed distracted as of late, though, and Hermione finally demanded one day to know why.

Harry and Neville exchanged a long glance, before Harry turned to her, resolute.

"Snape is refereeing the next Quidditch match," he told her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "…and?"

Harry gave her a look.

"He's going to try and kill Harry again!" Neville said, distressed, and Hermione could barely refrain from rolling her eyes.

"Snape is _not_ trying to kill Harry," she informed them. "If Snape wanted Harry dead, he would have coated his wand with a delayed-action poison while it was in the Quidditch locker room – something that would cause heart failure long after Snape made sure he was nowhere near Harry when he finally kicked it."

Harry and Neville stared at her.

"…those things exist?" Neville said faintly.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. And if they don't, Snape could definitely _make_ one. Snape's brilliant. He invents his own potions, you know."

"He does?" Despite himself, Harry looked impressed.

Hermione's mind went to the black and purple fire she had walked through, and how the draughts she had taken had felt like ice. "Yes, he does."

Harry still looked uneasy, and Hermione sighed.

"Look," she said, leaning forward. "Let's agree on the fact that if Snape wanted you dead, he wouldn't do it during Quidditch. It's far too obvious for Snape."

"Then why does he suddenly want to referee?" Harry wanted to know. "He's never refereed before!"

"Probably to either make sure your broom doesn't act up again, or to cheat and make calls against Gryffindor," she admitted. "Snape isn't pleased that your house showed us up the first match. I wouldn't put it past him to try and get Slytherin an edge over you however he could."

Harry and Neville grudgingly admitted that yes, it was much more plausible that Snape was just trying to cheat, not trying to kill Harry, and Hermione sat back, satisfied.

"I know you think someone's out to kill Harry," she told them, "but that person _isn't_ Snape. Start looking for other culprits, if you're insistent."

"Oh?" Harry said. He seemed almost amused. "Like who?"

"Ron," Hermione suggested immediately. "He nearly set you on fire last Charms class. Being next to him is an occupational hazard."

To her pleasure, both Harry and Neville laughed.

"Ooh, ooh, maybe it's Oliver Wood, Harry," Neville suggested. "Every time you come in from Quidditch, you look half-drowned or half-dead."

Harry laughed. "Maybe it's secretly Hagrid," he suggested, eyes alight with the game. "He's trying to choke me to death on his rock cakes."

Neville and Harry continued coming up with a list of possible culprits, the suggestions growing more and more ridiculous, while Hermione turned back to her books, an amused smile playing around her lips.

Inwardly, her mind turned back to their Defense Professor, the memory of his sudden vehemence against blood purist bullying rising in her mind, and how Harry often complained of headaches after he'd had that class.

Hermione bit her lip and pushed the matter from her mind. Hermione wasn't a betting person, but if she had to guess who might be out to kill Harry – she knew what person she'd put her money on.

* * *

Harry's worries ended up being for naught, of course – he caught the Snitch inside of five minutes, to Hermione's delighted surprise. Tracey had all but dragged her to the match, and Hermione had reluctantly conceded, expecting to lose her entire afternoon. She waited for Harry after the game to congratulate him, but he seemed distracted and had hurried off with Ron and Neville toward their common room – presumably, for a party.

With the rest of the day free, Hermione approached Blaise with a question.

"I want to put something up on the wall of my dormitory," she told him. "Do you know how I can get that to work?"

Blaise considered.

"I mean, you could always try hammering a spike into the stone, but if you could get someone to do a Sticking Charm for you, it'd probably work better," he suggested.

"Do you know how to do those?"

Blaise laughed. "That's OWL-level Charms material, Hermione. I'd ask a prefect."

Hermione did, and it was with great confusion that the 5th year prefect Jade spent half an hour with Hermione in her empty dorm sticking two giant stone crowns to the wall above her bed, one black and one white, Hermione determined to get them to set on the wall ever just so.

Hermione was thrilled when it was done, and thanked Jade profusely, who seemed mildly amused.

"Thank you ever so much!" Hermione said again, grinning. "If you need anything in return, let me know!"

Jade paused, a smile slowly curling around her lips as a glint flickered in her eyes.

"There is."

She crouched down to reach Hermione's level, lowering her voice.

"How is it that you and your classmates can look so… good?"

Hermione slowly grinned herself.

"I'll tell you," Hermione said. "But you have to keep it a secret, just between us, and maybe a few friends…"

* * *

Hermione stopped by her head of house's office later that evening, having had an idea she wanted to explore.

"A summer internship?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, fighting the urge to swing her legs. "Anything, really. Adrian says that we're not allowed to do magic at home over the summer, and it's been shown that if you don't use your knowledge, it simply _rots_ , and then you have to recover all you lost the next year…"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Internships are not generally a thing sought until after OWLs, Miss Granger," he informed her. "After students have some idea of their areas of interest and strength."

Hermione made a face. "Nothing? Not even desk work? Filing?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"…what, exactly, would you expect from such an internship?" he asked. Hermione shrugged.

"Not much," she told him. "It'd be like a work study, I suppose. I'd help someone with their job, taking the grunt tasks that they don't want, and when they had time, they'd teach me about how they do their position. It might pay me a little, too – most internships in the Muggle world offer below minimum-wage for work studies, but they give the intern _something_."

Snape considered.

"I have a few ideas," he finally admitted. "You must realize, Miss Granger, that this is not a usual thing in our world. Especially not for witches of your age."

Hermione bit back the retort that twelve was plenty old enough to start thinking about a career.

"…I'm ambitious?" she offered instead, and she caught a glint of amusement behind Snape's eyes.

"I suppose you are," he said. "I shall make a few inquiries. I will send for you if anything pans out."

"Thank you, sir!" Hermione chirped, pleased. She launched herself from her chair and caught herself nimbly on her feet several feet away. Snape raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"Been practicing, have we, Miss Granger?" he asked. Hermione grinned.

"I can kind of glide, now, if I jump from somewhere a bit high," she told him. "I'm still working on being able to make myself rise without everything going haywire."

"That's the hardest part," Snape said, nodding. "I might advise you to practice levitating yourself in a small enclosed space. If your head is against the ceiling of an empty closet, there's not exactly anywhere for you to _go_ haywire."

Hermione left Snape's office, immensely pleased with herself.


	52. The New Moon

**CW: Disturbing content**

* * *

The new moon for March fell on a Wednesday, so Hermione and the other Slytherins were awake and at Astronomy class at midnight. The sky was an eerie, complete darkness, and Hermione shivered, her thoughts heavy with what she was about to do.

After Astronomy class was over, Hermione left the tower with the others, hid in an alcove, and waited for the others to pass, before quietly making her way back up the stairs. To her relief, Professor Sinistra was also gone, nowhere to be found. Hermione aimed a locking charm at the door, and, hands shaking, she carefully removed her materials from her bag, trying not to think too hard about what she was about to do.

The ritual she had found in the book Professor Quirrell had directed her to had _not_ been to start someone's period; it had been to cause ovulation, to help with pregnancy. It was one of the _lighter_ rituals in the book, in that it only jump-started a natural process in a woman's body. Most of the other rituals in the book were much, much darker. Hermione had read them all, her eyes large, even though she had to stomach revulsion and nausea at some of them. They were academically fascinating, though, and Hermione could begin to see common elements throughout rituals, the more rituals she read about. But they were also horrifying, and they were Dark. Very Dark. Hermione had never considered that woman might want a ritual to steal the fetus from one woman's womb to implant into her own, but there it was.

A circle was carefully drawn with chalk and gone over three times, to make sure the lines were solid, and then an exact triangle was constructed inside of the circle, each side perfectly equal. At the points of the triangle, Hermione placed three stone bowls – larger mortars that she had found in an old potions classroom in the dungeons.

Into one of the bowls, she placed orchid seeds and mistletoe berries. They symbolized the fertility she wanted to bestow upon herself, the potential of new life. Hermione felt slightly off, placing things in the bowl as if she were actually trying to have a child. But she needed this ritual to work, icky feeling or not.

Into one of the bowls went water, with a few fresh eggs set to float. Another symbol of fertility. Hermione had checked beforehand that the ritual would _only_ stimulate her ovulation – not actually cause her to fall magically pregnant. The eggs had been awkward to obtain, but Hagrid kept chickens behind his hut. He'd amenably given her a few when she asked, and he hadn't asked why she wanted them. Hermione suspected that when it came to animals and magical creatures, Hagrid didn't think to ask many questions of why.

The last bowl Hermione paused at, before very hesitantly, withdrawing what she'd had to get.

It had been this ingredient that had given her the most pause in deciding if she was really going to do this or not. Eventually, after a lot of deliberation, she'd gone ahead.

It hadn't been that hard, to find a dead rabbit, really. Dozens of students had cats that roamed the grounds. She managed to find _several_ dead rabbits on the edge of the forest, once she'd figured out how best to look.

It had taken longer to find a dead rabbit that had been pregnant, and to take the full womb from the body, still fetuses still inside of it.

Hermione hadn't wanted to do it. She had _not_ wanted to do it. It was cruel, it was barbaric, and it was _horrifying._ Harvesting dead fetuses. Even the words made her shudder.

Only… they had already been dead when she got them. She hadn't gone out and killed anything to use purposefully. Surely it was better that their energy was used, instead of left to decay into nothing?

It wasn't _that_ much different than harvesting Potion ingredients, she reasoned. They used all kind of animal-based ingredients in Potions class – eyes and claws and fangs and scales. It was easy to dismiss the implications when they were pre-prepared, stored, and dried, but surely someone had to kill the animals to harvest the parts, didn't they?

Hermione had forced herself to concentrate on her end goal as she had harvested the rabbit. Now, again, Hermione swallowed back her bile and focused very hard on what she was doing this for and put the womb with the rabbit fetuses into the last bowl. This would help her for the rest of her life. This would help her maximize her potential. She'd eaten rabbit stew before to nourish her body; was using rabbits to nurture her magic so different?

She shuddered, wiping her hands off on a towel she'd brought.

The ritual recommended a sacrifice to enhance the chances of success – generally, the blood of the father-to-be. Hermione had nixed that part of the ritual. There was nothing she wanted to sacrifice, and she was fine with _poor_ chances of conception – she just wanted the little egg _out_ and her body starting to try.

Hermione took a deep breath. She'd only been in two rituals before, and someone else had run them both – Daphne, and then Snape. And they had been simple. This was _very_ ambitious for her third ritual ever. Hermione had been a perfectionist when setting everything up – the books Quirrell had recommended for her gave many ominous warnings of just what horrors might happen if anything were to go wrong.

Carefully, Hermione lifted the edges of her robes and stepped into the middle of the triangle. She sat down, folding her legs, making sure not to touch the chalk lines. When everything was ready, she paused, took a deep breath, looked up at the dark sky, and began to chant.

The chant was… syllables. Not Latin. Possibly Old English, or Celtic words, or something older. There had been a phonetic spelling to help her learn it, and the chant wasn't long – maybe a sentence or two, repeated over and over.

As Hermione chanted, she became aware that something was happening. There was a quivering, a shaky feeling of magic, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the chalk lines light up with an unearthly pale blue light, connecting one bowl to the next to the next.

Her chant continued, Hermione taking care to keep her voice steady. She nearly gasped as she saw the berries and seeds abruptly consumed by a blue fire, but she managed to keep it together, continuing to repeat the chant, feeling the power in the circle rise as she did.

The eggs were next, gone along with the water in a flare of power, and it almost astonished Hermione that they could just _vanish_ like that, and be gone so completely, before her mind chimed in to remind her that this _was_ magic – of _course_ things could just disappear.

The power rose further, and Hermione felt herself begin to sweat.

As the last bowl lit with pale blue flame, Hermione felt a sensation of something beginning to swirl around her, as if a wind from nowhere was rising and was trapped in the triangle with her. It was uncomfortable, it was stifling, and Hermione felt _scared_ , but it wasn't as if the book had described what would happen, only to keep chanting "until the ritual is done."

She managed three more recitations of the chant before the power abruptly engulfed her, lighting up her body like a ghostly lantern, and Hermione _screamed_.

Pain like she'd never known seared through her middle as something _burst_ inside of her. Awful pressure was building, as if something was inflating that was never meant to inflate, and her organs were shifting inside of her, making room for the magic to accomplish its goal. It felt _foreign_ and _painful_ and _horrible_ , and Hermione gasped and cried out as her body betrayed her, weakening as the magic ravaged her parts.

When the pain finally faded, the blue light fading from her body as it did, Hermione was gasping, her face wet with tears, and firmly _not happy_ with the result.

She lay on the stone for several long minutes, crying helplessly, cradling her midsection, alone, under the stars.

When she had finally collected herself enough to sit up, Hermione slowly began cleaning up, wincing as she moved. She angrily shoved the three stone bowls into her bag and cleaned off the chalk with a _Ventus_ and more water for the stubborn lines. The ritual book hadn't said it would hurt so badly. Why hadn't it _warned_ her? Hermione unlocked the door and left the Astronomy tower, prepared with her excuse of losing track of time after class looking at Jupiter in case she ran into a teacher. The ritual hadn't taken _that_ long, after all. It was plausible.

But on her weak legs, aching pain still in her center, the stairs from the Astronomy tower down to the Slytherin dungeons seemed an insurmountable obstacle. She made it down one flight of stairs, then half of another before tripping and falling down the rest. Hermione lay there a long moment, breathing hard against the wall, before shakily getting to her feet once more.

Her leg muscles weren't working properly, Hermione's mind catalogued dully. They'd gone through some type of trauma, with the pain, and they were refusing to work. As were her arms, for that matter – it'd been a challenge to pull herself up on one of the railings.

So. Legs not working, arms not working, rolling down the stairs not a viable solution…

An idea slowly formed in Hermione's mind. Exhausted from the pain, Hermione was desperate enough to latch onto it.

Carefully, Hermione reached down into her power, pulling it up into herself.

She was tired, which helped – usually, her power responded much more forcefully, but she could only manage a gentle ebb now. She felt for the element of air inside of herself and called it forward too.

She was surprised when a feeling of softness came up, one that almost felt _caring_ , and carefully, Hermione focused not so much on _flying_ , as she did _gliding_ – just enough power to gently glide down the stairs.

It worked.

Holding onto the railing, Hermione leaned forward, feeling herself almost _slide_ down the stairs – only, she was standing. It was an odd feeling, the feeling of wisps of wind around her body and her power literally pushing her, but it was _working_. And somehow, Hermione felt _better_ – more _alive_ , like this, with her magic literally pulsing through her body.

She managed to make it down five staircases before her magic gave out, and she collapsed and fell down the rest of the way, yelping and crashing to the ground hard. There was sharp pain in her back and Hermione vaguely saw someone running toward her as her head slammed into the ground, and everything went dark.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was dismissed from the hospital wing. She'd had a minor concussion that Madame Pomfrey had tutted over and healed, and she was deemed in good health. She'd escaped with only 10 points off from Slytherin – Professor McGonagall, who'd found her, had believed her claim that she'd been so tired after Astronomy that she'd literally just struggled to get back to the dungeons. She'd played on the fact that none of the Slytherins would have ever offered help, and that in her position with her Muggle heritage, she couldn't risk losing face by having to ask for assistance. Hermione suspected that the professor had also been merciful because Hermione been injured – McGonagall had seen her fall.

As she slipped into her seat at breakfast, planning on cleaning up and changing clothes before her afternoon Potions class, Hermione touched her middle almost absently, wondering. The ritual had definitely done _something_ to her. Was there a way witches could tell if they were actually ovulating? Or did they just have to wait for their periods the same way Muggles did?

Either way, the ritual had _better_ have worked. If she'd gone through all that mess and gore and pain for nothing, Hermione was going to be _furious._

Two weeks later, the day before her half birthday, Hermione woke with her underwear oddly damp. She went to the bathroom and saw her thighs streaked with blood, and she quietly celebrated her first period by herself with a fist pump and a quiet _"yesss!"_ hissed aloud. Her period had come on the day of the full moon – just as the book had said it would if she hadn't managed to conceive.

She received a bar of dark chocolate and a lotus flower in the mail that day, along with a note.

.

 _Congratulations. Well done on hitting your 18_ _th_ _month precisely._

 _The enclosed will help you learn more about what other useful things you can do now, should you want to learn._

 _._

Hermione felt a cold shiver pass through her body. How had he _known_ she'd been successful?

Enclosed with the note was the name of a book, _Feminine Magick and Power,_ and the signature of Professor Quirrell.

When Hermione realized the book was a grimoire filled entirely with rituals and spells that involved menstrual blood, she balked and nearly gave it back to Madame Pince, before slowly putting in her bag anyway.

Just because she _read_ about something didn't mean she was going to _do_ it. It was objectively fascinating all the same.


	53. An Odd Test

It was in the library one day that Harry, Neville, and Ron approached Hermione, with caged and mixed expressions on their faces.

"Hermione, we'd like your help with something," Neville told her.

Hermione regarded them curiously.

"I can certainly try," she said. "What do you need help with?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"We want to learn about Alchemy," he told her. "What do you know about it?"

Hermione stared at them.

 _"Alchemy?"_ she said. "I- nearly nothing, really, only the legends in the Muggle world. You mean Alchemy is _real?_ " Her mind whirled with the implications. "I never knew! Let's get started at once!"

She darted to the card catalogue, pulling several cards and leading the small group off into the stacks, Ron scowling all the way. Soon, they all had books; Harry, _Great Alchemists Throughout the Ages_ , Neville _Who's Who and What's What of Alchemy,_ and Ron _So You Want to Be an Alchemist_. Hermione had claimed _An Introduction to Alchemy_ and _Basic Alchemic Principles_ for herself, and she immediately began reading.

The book was _fascinating_. Alchemy seemed to be a combination of transfiguration with rituals, ancient runes, and arithmancy to alter the molecular structure of things. Hermione found it deeply interesting and quickly lost herself in the book.

It was just before curfew when she looked up and realized that not only had the sun gone, but so had her friends. Their books had been left strewn across the table, and Hermione rolled her eyes to herself.

"Clearly not _that_ interested in Alchemy," she muttered, shelving their books before checking out her own.

* * *

It became quickly apparent to Hermione that Alchemy was not something she was going to be any good at until she had at least a couple years of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes under her belt, so it was with reluctance that she returned the Alchemy primer. Instead, she went back to the ritual books she'd checked out (and kept renewing, to Madam Pince's irritation). Rituals were simpler, and they didn't require quite such precision as it seemed Alchemy would.

Classes were still interesting, and Hermione enjoyed proving herself to her teachers and classmates. She was careful to act ever the consummate Slytherin, using Snape as an example to model herself after – not demanding attention, but always knowing the answer and providing it when asked; smirking in pleasure instead of laughing outright; and insulting others in the most cutting way.

She kept most of the insults in her head or spoke them quietly, to Tracey or Blaise, who found them funny and would insult their peers along with her. It wasn't nice, but it was fun, and it seemed to be a Slytherin pastime to lord yourself over others as somehow better.

Time seemed to speed up for Hermione. Exams and the end of the year didn't seem all that far off, and Hermione began preparing. Harry and Neville had given her horrified looks when she offered to help them prepare a review schedule, so she'd gone to the Ravenclaws, all of whom wanted to compare theirs against hers. Together, they'd agreed upon set study and review sessions, and soon Hermione was meeting up with Terry, Mandy, Michael, and Anthony with regularity. She didn't seem to get much out of the study sessions – Hermione was doing much better at memorizing and remembering magic than she had been at Muggle school (though she hadn't been a slouch there, either!). It helped alleviate her anxiety about exams, though – she could just imagine the humiliation she'd feel if she failed her tests. She'd be the laughing stock of Slytherin!

It was one such study session that she was interrupted by a Slytherin prefect – Lysander Lestrange, if she remembered his name.

"Professor Snape needs to see you in his office immediately," he informed her. He looked around their little study group, and his lip curled. " _Now."_

"I know what 'immediately' means, thanks," Hermione shot back. She packed up her bag and offered her study group an apologetic look, while they offered her one of pity as she hurried off, the prefect walking alongside her.

"Do you know what this is about?" Hermione asked the prefect.

"No idea," Lestrange said shortly. He looked down on her, a faint sneer on his face. "There's a gentleman in there with him, though. Be careful not to embarrass our House in front of the public."

Hermione drew herself up and met his eyes with a haughty look.

"I know how to conduct myself properly," she informed him. "I shan't bring dishonor upon our house."

Lysander looked momentarily surprised, then cruelly amused.

"We'll see," he told her. His eyes glinted.

He knocked on the door, and shoved Hermione through none-too-politely at Snape's cry of "Enter!" Hermione stumbled but quickly righted herself, and turned to level a glare at Lysander, but he'd already gone, the door closed behind him. Withholding a sigh, Hermione turned to her Head of House.

"You summoned me, sir?"

Snape was standing, his arms folded. Next to him was a short, wiry man with great sprouts of white hair erupting from his head. Hermione tried not to stare, but it was hard – the man reminded her of an overly-thin Albert Einstein.

"Miss Granger, this is Cadmus Vitac," Snape told her. "He is here to examine you."

Hermione's eyes widened. "…examine?"

Cadmus gave Snape a skeptical look.

"This is the girl you spoke about?" he demanded. "She's barely a slip of a girl!"

"Shut up and just give her your test," Snape said impatiently. "You'll see yourself what I spoke of soon enough."

The man scowled at Snape but moved forward nonetheless.

"This is a test that I give potential employees, Miss Granger," he told her. "I will time you. There are three parts. You may begin."

Hermione took a seat and reached for her quill, confused to see two ink pots sitting next to it. She took the familiar black and began immediately, curious what kind of test this could be.

It became quickly apparent that this was a sort of grammar test. The test demanded she identify parts of speech, define what each was, and recognize each inside a sentence. Hermione found herself smiling after a short while as she cheerfully completed the quiz – it was like a review sheet from her English Language classes, and Hermione found herself almost having fun. After diagramming a sentence in the blank bottom of the parchment (for extra credit, she told herself), she set the first page aside and turned to the next.

This one was even more straightforward – a list of common phrases and idioms, and she had to mark which was correct. Hermione found herself hesitating over some of the more obscure Wizarding ones – was it "grumbling ghosts" or "grumbling goblins"? She did know "all of a sudden" over "all of the sudden", as well as "for all intents and purposes" over "for all intensive purposes". This test was harder, and Hermione had to leave a few blank (she'd rather admit what she didn't know than guess and get it wrong), and it was with slight trepidation that Hermione moved on to the last page.

This page was an essay, and the page instructed her to correct it. As Hermione saw the start of the essay lacking a capital letter, the meaning of the second inkpot came to her in a flash, and it was with a grin that Hermione inked her quill with red. She'd always wanted to do this, ever since getting her own papers marked in red back from her primary school teacher.

She tore the essay to pieces, catching every mistake she could, including correcting the spelling of words. She marked where it should be split into different paragraphs, and she caught all the comma splices. She found herself making revision notes as she went along editing the paper, notations of "source?" and "does not follow" in the margins of the page. By the time she had finished, the page was a veritable cacophony of red and black, and Hermione was pleased with herself. It looked almost as bad as one of Ron's essays handed back from Snape.

"Time."

Hermione blinked, having forgotten there were others in the room with her as she had entered a mental Test Mode. Flushing slightly, she handed her tests over.

She watched from her seat, somewhat apprehensive, as Mr. Vitac went over her parchments, his own quill inked in blue to correct her sheets. Snape seemed supremely nonplussed and unworried as her papers were graded – he was examining his nails at the moment, projecting complete boredom. Hermione felt a thrill as Vitac turned her first page aside without having made a single mark on it – that meant she'd scored a perfect.

He stopped at her blank answers on the second sheet, though.

"You don't know these?" he asked her.

"To be honest, sir, I've never heard these expressions before," she admitted. "If you wouldn't mind teaching me the proper idioms and their meanings before you go, I'm sure I'd be able to remember them from now on."

His white bushy eyebrows rose high.

"You've never heard them before?" he demanded.

"I only entered the wizarding world in September," Hermione said uncomfortably. "These aren't sayings my classmates use."

The man shot a sharp look at Snape, who held his hands out in a gesture. The man looked at her suspiciously, taking in the green and silver stripes of her tie, before continuing on.

When he got to her third page, Hermione saw pleasant surprise flash across his face.

"You know your editing marks," he murmured. "Excellent."

Hermione watched as he read down the paper, humming to himself in a low tone, before rolling up all three papers and tucking them into his robe, where they vanished. He stood, and Hermione saw that his aggressive suspicion seemed gone.

"Severus, you were absolutely right," he told him. "I haven't seen such perfect grammar in _years."_

Snape allowed himself to smirk, and the man turned to Hermione again.

"Miss Granger, Professor Snape has told me you are looking for summer employment," he told her. He offered her a smile that was toothy and cracked. "I would like to offer you a job."

"You would?" Hermione couldn't believe it.

"I would. I work at Lleuwlynn and Sewlyn, a small publishing house in Wizarding London. I read manuscripts, edit drafts, and publish books."

Hermione had to force herself not to hyperventilate with excitement, though she suspected her eyes had a mad gleam to them.

"If you accept, I will teach you the wizarding publishing process, as well as how magical books are printed and manufactured. Most of the time, you will be doing the scut work - second copy-edits, filing, that sort of thing."

"Oh yes, that's fine!" Hermione blurted. "I would love to come and work for you!"

Cadmus chuckled and exchanged a look with Snape.

"Eager girl," he commented. "I imagine you're a voracious reader?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then we'll have to see about approving you for a company discount on our books as well." He gave her his odd, cracked smile again. "Now, a contract?"

"I will represent Miss Granger's interests in an employment discussion," Snape said, interjecting smoothly. Cadmus looked surprised, but he shrugged.

Hermione sat in stunned silence as they bickered over things like hours, rate, and official job duties. She was hardly able to believe it. An internship at a _publishing house-!_

When they had finished, she was to earn 9 sickles an hour, with every hour worked over 35 in a week paid at double the rate. She was to work weekdays from 9-5, with an hour for lunch each day. And the company would pay for her travel expenses – in this case, a work Portkey that would take her to and from work each day. Hermione had been in a daze of happiness when she signed her contract, not bothering to read over all the responsibilities. She was sure they'd teach her everything she'd need to do the first week, anyway.

When Cadmus Vitac had left, looking quite pleased, the door had scarcely closed before Hermione had flung herself across the room to hug Snape about the waist, to his shock.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you-!"

"Miss Granger! This is conduct most unbecoming of a Slytherin!"

Hermione didn't care, and she held on, grinning like a loon. With a resigned sigh, Snape relaxed, and lightly embraced her back.

"You are welcome, Miss Granger," he said, his voice long-suffering. "At least you are pleased."

"You couldn't have found something more perfect if you tried," Hermione said, pulling back and smiling up at him. "What made you think of it?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Though you excel in your classes, you do not have many marketable skills yet, Miss Granger," he told her. "You only have a First Year's education, after all. But the one thing you do better than any other student is _read_. That, and write essays that are entirely too long."

Hermione laughed and beamed again, and Snape rolled his eyes.

"Get out of here now, before I'm sickened by your soppy smiles," he told her, handing her a copy of her employment contract. "Go inflict your emotion upon some other poor soul."

Hermione took the parchment and practically danced out of Snape's office, returning to her dorm in a daze of happiness. As she drifted down the corridor, she practically ran into Blaise and Draco, who were heading toward the common room as well.

"Hermione!" Blaise moved quickly and caught her, keeping her from falling. "Merlin, Hermione, be careful. What's got your head in the clouds?"

Hermione just smiled at him soppily for a minute, before pulling herself together a bit to properly respond.

"I'm just happy," she said decisively. "No particular reason."

Both Blaise and Draco raised their eyebrows and exchanged a glance at that one.

"Why? What are you two up to?" she asked. "It's almost curfew."

This time, the look exchanged was one of malicious glee.

"That oaf Hagrid's got a dragon in his hut," Draco said, his eyes glinting. "The egg just hatched."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"A _dragon?_ "


	54. Norbert

It was, indeed, a dragon.

Hermione was aghast.

She'd tagged along with Harry, Ron, and Neville the next day for their visit. Hagrid's love for the tiny dragon he'd named Norbert was adorable, but vastly outclassed by Hermione's alarm.

"Hagrid, it's _illegal_ to raise a dragon like this," Ron tried again. "You could get thrown in prison if they find out."

"Aw, but I can't just let him go! He needs his mummy," Hagrid proclaimed. "You love your mummy, don'tcha, Norbert?"

Hagrid dangled a strip of raw steak in front of Norbert, who leapt and snapped it out of his hand. Hagrid laughed in delight, while the rest of them flinched at the many rows of sharp teeth the baby dragon had rapidly developed.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_ ," Hermione pointed out. "Baby dragons grow very rapidly, and they're very testy. Norbert isn't going to have enough room to grow."

Hagrid's face fell, but perked right back up.

"We'll take Norbert to the forest, when 'e's old enough," Hagrid said. "He'll love it – lotsa game to hunt and burn."

Hermione exchanged a dismayed look with Harry. Dragons preferred open plains and cliffs – places where they could stretch their wings and fly. Dragons didn't live inside forests naturally.

"We still need to worry about Malfoy," Harry told Hagrid, reminding him. "He could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Draco Malfoy was too busy laughing over the idiocy of Hagrid to bother going to Dumbledore, Hermione knew. He and Blaise had started a pool over how long it would take until Hagrid's hut burned down. Hermione had declined to participate.

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I – I know I can't keep forever, but I can't jus' dump him. He's too little. He'd die."

Harry suddenly turned to Ron.

"Charlie – your brother, Charlie. He works with dragons, right?"

Ron's eyes widened.

"Brilliant! He can take him and raise him until he can go out into the wild."

Harry turned to Hagrid. "How about it, Hagrid? He'd be safe, at a dragon preserve."

Hermione watched as Harry and Ron gradually persuaded Hagrid around, who eventually agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him to take the dragon.

That night, she reported back to her housemates what she had learned.

"They're going to ship him off to Romania?" Draco scowled. "That's no fun."

"Having a dragon around is _dangerous_ ," Blaise pointed out. "Better they get rid of it now, while it's young, before it comes and terrorizes us one day in the middle of Herbology and eats someone."

Draco grumbled, which meant Blaise had made a good point.

"This can be turned into an opportunity, though," Hermione suggested. "Hagrid is too conspicuous. Ron will have to be the one to slip the dragon to his brother, somehow."

Draco's eyes gleamed.

"Downfall to Weasley," he said, nodding.

Hermione nodded back, then blinked. When had 'downfall to Weasley' become such a reflexive response to anything remotely involving Ron?

Blaise looked thoughtful.

"He's been ignoring our taunts for a while, now," he said. "This is a good idea to get him in trouble again."

Draco clapped his hands together, malicious glee in his eyes.

"Hermione, you'll find out when the trade-off is happening?" he asked her. Hermione, reluctantly, nodded.

"You'll have to make it seem like you found out some other way," she warned. "I'm not having them accuse me of being a traitor – not when I still have to get Ron to make me cry."

"Of course," Blaise assured her. "We'll even let Potter get away and just get Weasley, if it makes you feel better."

It did make her feel better, though Draco scowled and had to be persuaded around by Blaise.

* * *

It was while her friends were waiting around for an owl from Charlie Weasley that Hermione unexpectedly received an owl herself.

 _Hermione Granger,_ the letter began.

 _Hermione Granger,_

 _These are loan contracts. Sign them with the enclosed quill. Then mail them back. Do this soon._

 _Bloodthorne_

There was an addendum scribbled at the end.

 _I have had these for a while, but it is only with some resistance in paying us back_  
 _from one of the borrowers that I have felt you must sign these.  
 **Do not let anyone see you use the quill**._

Hermione slipped into an empty classroom to quickly sign the contracts, hissing at the use of the blood quill. She felt a sting on her hand, as if the quill was sucking blood right out through her palm.

There were more contracts than she'd thought there would be. She'd expected three to four; she'd received nearly twenty.

No matter – she scribbled her signature several times, before an idea caught in her head, and she hurried back to her dorm.

Flipping open her trunk, Hermione pulled out her latest batch of galleons (Jade and her friends had been very happy to order from Hermione's mysterious makeup friend) in a feather-light bag. After a moment, she pulled out her prize from the obstacle course as well. If it was something valuable, better to put it somewhere where it would be safe.

 _I have signed the contracts._ Hermione wrote. _Also, please deposit these in my vault. I trust you know what to do with them. Hermione._

Hermione grinned to herself. With another 160 galleons, Bloodthorne could make another few loans. It might take a while, but the interest would surely add up.

The wretched-looking owl the Gringotts goblin had sent was still circling the Great Hall when Hermione returned, though breakfast was breaking up. It flew down at her beckoning, and Hermione tied on the parchments and bags on securely. She gave the bird a rasher of bacon and tossed it into the air, and it flew off with a defiant hoot.

"Heavy mail, Hermione?" Theo commented, lagging behind to walk with her to Potions.

Hermione shrugged, smiling. "Just taking care of some business."


	55. Draco's Dragon Plotting

On Thursday, there was news.

"I got a book that Weasley left the letter from his brother in," Draco announced, sliding onto the couch next to Blaise. His tone was gleeful. "They're sneaking it up to the Astronomy tower at midnight on Saturday."

"Sneaking a baby dragon?" Blaise snickered. "That seems like it's a recipe for disaster."

Hermione was pleased. "At least now they won't suspect me betraying them."

"We'll have to go out beforehand, to catch them in the castle properly," Draco said. "I know an alcove near the Astronomy Tower we can lurk in and wait."

" _We?"_ Blaise's tone belied his incredulity. "I think _not._ Malfoy, if we get caught by anyone except Snape, it'll easily be 50 points off."

"They'll have _two_ people out, with a _dragon_ ," Draco argued. "They'll lose _more_ points."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't minimize the risk."

Draco turned to Hermione. "What do _you_ think?"

Hermione considered, biting her lip.

"Harry and Ron will almost definitely be the ones to go," Hermione said. "Neville is 50/50 if he goes or not – I would guess not. If there's two of them out, and two of us out, there'd be a net gain of 0. Better to send one person after the two."

Draco scowled, while Blaise nodded satisfactorily.

"Besides," Hermione said, turning to Draco. "If you're the one caught, you're much less likely than the rest of us to get in trouble. Your father has connections, and the teachers will go lighter on you because of it."

" _That,_ " Blaise said firmly, "is a damn good point."

Slowly, Draco nodded.

"I'll be the one to catch them," he agreed. "But if either of you two hear anything about their plans ahead of time, you'd better let me know."

Hermione and Blaise exchanged a glance and easily agreed.

"Now, if you're done playing with rocks, let's go plan Phase Three of Down with Weasley." Draco's tone was haughty and annoyed.

Blaise snickered, and Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes as they put away the Go set to follow Draco.

* * *

Though Hermione spent time with Harry, Neville, and Ron on Friday, none of them mentioned what the plan was with Norbert, just "that it was being taken care of." Hermione was torn between feeling angry that they wouldn't trust her because she was a Slytherin, and feeling vaguely guilty because she _would_ betray Ron to Slytherin House. Down to Weasley and all that.

It was odd how reflexive the thought came now, Hermione reflected. 'Downfall to Weasley' had become so internalized with the Slytherins, it was difficult to remember a time when they weren't all looking for opportunities to get Ron in trouble. Even she had the thought come up frequently, and most of the time, Hermione was being friendly with him, with Harry and Neville around.

On Friday, she had to visit Ron in the Hospital Wing; apparently, Norbert had bit him earlier in the week, and his hand had swollen to twice its usual size and looked green. It was looking much better, Harry assured her, but Hermione thought it still looked vaguely gangrenous. She wondered how Madam Pomfrey was treating him, when he clearly wasn't being honest about what had bitten him.

On Saturday, Ron _just_ got out of the hospital wing with the excuse of needing to study for exams, and it was _heavily_ against medical advice.

"You really shouldn't be leaving the Hospital Wing with your hand still looking like that," Hermione warned him. "It _smells_ , Ron. And it's not like you're actually going to study. Why not stay until it's healed?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a significant look, which Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at. She supposed they thought they were being subtle.

"Just don't like the Hospital Wing is all," Ron said airily. "I can't sleep well, there. The beds are crap, and I always wake up in the middle of the night when Madam Pomfrey does her rounds…"

Hermione dutifully reported to Malfoy that night in the common room after dinner.

"Their plan is still on – Ron's even gotten out of the Hospital Wing early for it," she told him. "His wound still smells from the festering – you might be able to track him by that, if nothing else."

Draco nodded, looking resolute.

"It's a Saturday night, so you know the teachers will be patrolling the castle as well as Filch. You might want to wear solid black, to help you blend into the shadows," Hermione recommended. "Take a black cloak to cover your hair with – the slightest bit of moonlight will reflect off it like a beacon."

Draco looked surprised, but then gave her a look of slow respect.

"Good thinking." He went off to get his cloak.

"This," Blaise drawled, sidling up to Hermione, "has the potential to go horribly, horribly wrong."

Hermione shrugged helplessly.

"He's determined to catch them with a dragon," she said. "We've done all we can to minimize the potential damage to Slytherin."

Draco returned with a thick black cloak, a heavy black velvet that light vanished into.

"I'll be back later," he said, donning the hood. "Wish me luck."

They both wished him well, Hermione idly wondering if there was a Good Luck charm, a kind of counter to the Bad Luck Hex she'd hit Pansy with.

Draco had wanted to get into place before curfew, leaving Blaise and Hermione to play Go in the common room for a couple hours. At 11pm, Blaise announced that he was going to bed.

"I'm exhausted, and I need my sleep, Malfoy be damned," Blaise said crossly. "I'll find out one way or another in the morning."

Hermione tried to suppress a giggle, not entirely succeeding. There was something endearing about Blaise when he was cranky like this.

Blaise gave her an odd look, and on an impulse, Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Good night, then," she told him, smiling.

Blaise's eyes had gone wide, but he nodded at her, shooting her a smile in return as he headed off.

The common room slowly emptied, and Hermione entertained herself for a while by reading one of the forbidden ritual books, before she admitted to herself that she really shouldn't be reading such horrors right before bed. She moved to levitating herself inside the hidden guest closet by the common room entrance, which sort of worked – Snape had been right about it being easier to find her balance when she didn't have to worry about going too far up. By the time her magic was fully exhausted, the top of her head ached from the pressure of pushing against the ceiling, but Hermione felt like she'd made progress.

Draco Malfoy returned to the common room about twelve-thirty, and Hermione could immediately read the results off his face.

"McGonagall was patrolling," he said disgustedly. "I got twenty points off Slytherin and _detention_. She wouldn't listen to me when I tried to warn her about the dragon."

"They might still get caught," Hermione offered quietly. "They're not exactly quiet people, and they're carrying a _dragon_."

Draco snorted.

"They've got to have gotten a prefect to Disillusion them or something," he said. "I waited for ages, and I didn't see or hear _anything._ "

Hermione blinked. "Disillusion?"

Draco waved her off. "It's some disguise spell Aurors use all the time. I don't know much about it. I'm going to bed."

Hermione copied him and retired to her own chambers, making a mental note to look up Disillusioning. A disguise spell sounded like it'd be too good _not_ to know.


	56. Draco's Detention

The next morning, Hermione did a double-take at the giant hourglasses – Gryffindor had _plummeted_ overnight. She quietly pointed it out to Draco and Blaise, both of whom checked as well.

"They had to have gotten caught!" Draco said, barely able to contain his glee. "They lost 150 points! That means all three of them must have been docked 50 points each."

Hermione went over to the Gryffindor table after she had finished her own breakfast, where Harry, Ron, and Neville were sitting quietly and looking pale.

"What happened?" she asked. "Everyone's gossiping about it."

Haltingly, Harry told her – about the note from Charlie, about sneaking Norbert up to the highest tower, getting him off safely, but being caught by Filch on the way back and dragged to their Head of House.

"She was furious." Neville's voice quavered. "She thought Harry and Ron fed Malfoy a story about a dragon to get him out of bed and in trouble. She caught me too, but I was just trying to warn them about Malfoy…"

"At least she didn't get us with Norbert," Ron groaned, thunking his head onto the table. He looked up. "Can you imagine? We'd have been in detention until the end of the _year_ , caught with an illegal dragon…"

"Malfoy got detention and points off too," Hermione offered. "He was sulking about it this morning."

"Yeah, _twenty_ lost to _a hundred and fifty_ ," Ron snarled, and Hermione drew back, hurt.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry said shortly. "It's not Hermione's fault that we got caught."

"Yeah, especially considering we didn't even tell her," Neville said, glaring. "She could have _helped_ , you know."

Hermione got the feeling that there had been an argument about whether or not to tell her about the dragon escape plan. She found herself grateful to have not known – it would have been _hard_ to sabotage their plans without them knowing.

"Too late now," Hermione said, shrugging. She offered them an apologetic smile. "Include me in your next adventure? I know lots of spells – I can help."

Harry and Neville exchanged a glance, before Harry nodded firmly, once.

"We should have told you about this one," Harry told her. "Even though we could only sneak two of us at a time, you might have had good ideas for helping us silence our shoes or something."

Could only sneak two at a time…?

That sounded oddly specific.

* * *

With exams drawing near, Hermione was often found studying either with the Ravenclaws in their tower, her Slytherin friends in an empty classroom, or in the library with Harry, Neville, and Ron. The first group was excellent for animated and in-depth discussion and arguments, the middle group for quizzing each other, and the last group for quiet, focused self-study. Harry, Neville, and Ron had been very quiet since their nighttime adventure and getting caught with the dragon. They all seemed lost and sad.

From what Hermione could gather, her Gryffindor friends had been entirely ostracized. Even Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seemed to be ignoring them, Neville had mentioned, which irritated Hermione – did Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff really want to see Slytherin lose the House Cup that badly? Gryffindor may have been in second, but Slytherin still had a fairly solid lead.

Their ostracization helped them focus on studying, if nothing else, which would help improve their marks.

When Draco got a note from Professor McGonagall on Friday telling him to report for detention that night, Hermione saw three similar notes being delivered to the Gryffindor table, and she again thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't been involved in the ridiculous dragon sneaking scheme.

"Report at eleven o'clock," Draco scoffed. "Get in trouble for being out after curfew, and then report at _eleven o'clock_. This seems like a grand idea."

"If you all lose points again, it'll be a 3:1 ratio," Blaise pointed out, smirking. "I'd say go for it – Hermione can make up the points for Slytherin in a day just by raising her hand."

In a gesture of solidarity, Hermione and Blaise both stayed up to wait for him – both studying for exams. The time seemed to fly by as Hermione memorized the dates of the Goblin Wars.

When Draco returned from his detention, he was nearly apoplectic with rage.

"They took us into the _forest!"_ he ranted. "The _Forbidden Forest!_ The one that's _forbidden!_ And we had to hunt for a creature that was _killing unicorns!_ "

"Killing unicorns?" Blaise looked alarmed.

"And _I saw it!_ There was a cloaked creature _drinking the unicorn's blood!_ Potter and I both saw it, and then it _charged at us_ -!"

Draco was shaking with anger. He marched over, seizing Blaise's quill.

"I am writing my father _immediately_ ," Draco snarled, grabbing a fresh sheet of parchment. "Putting children in danger for _detention_ like this is completely unacceptable. Detention should be scrubbing cauldrons or doing lines or _something_ tedious and annoying – not _risking your life_ –!"

"Harry was with you?" Hermione asked, trying to understand.

Draco looked up from his furious scribbling.

"That oaf Hagrid divided us into teams. I got put with Potter and the oaf's dog." He paused. "…there's something _wrong_ with Potter, you know. He screamed and grabbed his scar when the man charged us, instead of running. I'm pretty sure he lived, but _Merlin_ —what kind of survival instinct is that?"

Hermione began to get a bad feeling.

"I'll check back in with you later," she said. Draco waved her off, and Hermione bolted.

It was dangerous to sneak out at night, but Hermione had to know. She sprinted up eight flights of stairs as fast as she could, and she arrived panting at the Gryffindor portrait hole just as Harry, Ron, and Neville were arriving back, all three looking shaken.

"I just heard – you were attacked, Harry?" she said.

Harry's face was grim.

"Let's get inside – I'll tell you everything…"

It was a mark of how serious it was that Ron didn't even protest Hermione piling into the Gryffindor common room with them. A moment later, they were all sitting as Harry told them the tale of what had happened.

"There's only one person who would be so close to death that he needs unicorn blood," Harry said. He was pacing in front of the fire, shaking slightly. "Voldemort."

Neville "eeped" and hugged his knees to himself. Ron looked frightened.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…"

"Stop saying the name!" Ron said in a terrified whisper. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry wasn't listening. He'd started talking about the centaurs who'd rescued him.

"…Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me… I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

" _Will you stop saying that name!"_ Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer.

"I'm sorry, but _what are you talking about?_ " she demanded. " _What_ do you think Snape is trying to steal? What is going _on?_ "

The three boys turned to look at her, and a look flashed over their faces. Harry looked vaguely guilty.

"There's a three-headed dog in the forbidden third floor corridor," he told her. "Behind it, a bunch of the teachers each designed some kind of protection, too. They're all to protect the Philosopher's Stone, which Dumbledore is protecting for Nicholas Flamel."

"You-Know-Who already tried to steal it from Gringotts, over the summer," Neville added. "Hogwarts is the safest place for it to be."

"The _Philosopher's Stone?_ " Hermione repeated dumbly. Her brain felt like it was rejecting their words.

"The big prize of alchemy," Ron said. "Creates gold, makes the elixir of life. That deal."

"That's _real?_ " Hermione said, stunned. "I- I didn't know that was more than a Muggle _story_."

"Oh, it's real, and Snape is after it," Ron said grimly.

"He's worked out all of the puzzles," Harry told her. "We heard Quirrell crying and giving in the other day, and Quirrell's was the last puzzle Snape didn't know how to get through. Now there's nothing keeping from Snape from going after the Stone."

Quirrell _crying…?_

Hermione held her head, the pieces of the puzzle finally beginning to click.

"You think that the Philosopher's Stone is hidden behind traps in the forbidden 3rd floor corridor, and that Snape is going to try and steal the Stone for Voldemort?" she summarized. She declined to even begin addressing the ridiculousness of the idea of Snape helping _Voldemort_.

"Exactly." Harry nodded fervently.

Hermione gnawed at her lip, considering.

"I don't know what you saw in the forest," she said slowly, "but Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one that Voldemort was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, Voldemort can't come near you and won't touch you."

Ron looked bolstered by this, while Harry looked grim.

"The Philosopher's Stone..." Hermione said, careful to keep her tone neutral. "What might that look like?"

"No idea," Ron said, shrugging. "The books we found didn't exactly give a physical description, only said what it could do."

"And the Elixir of Life could help Voldemort return to power," Harry said. "He's around. I just know it. My scar's been hurting all week."

They kept talking until it was light out, discussing Voldemort, the stone, and going over the events of the detention again and again until all four of them agreed the best thing to do was stay alert and wary, but to trust Dumbledore to keep Voldemort at bay. It wasn't an easy decision for Harry to come to - Harry very much seemed like was expecting Voldemort to come after him _personally,_ which Hermione couldn't exactly refute.

Hermione waited until it was officially morning hours before heading back to her dorm, promptly collapsing on her bed, sleeping until noon, dreams of Dark Lords and odd, twisted mirrors filling her mind.


	57. Discussing the Dark Lord

Hermione could tell that Harry was still on edge about Voldemort hiding in the forest. She had no idea how he was managing his preparing for his exams; the dark circles under his eyes made it obvious he was having nightmares, and he was constantly rubbing his forehead where his scar was, as if it hurt.

Voldemort being a threat seemed to hang heavily over Harry, Ron, and Neville, seen in the bleak looks they exchanged and the shadows under their eyes. Hermione had been surprised to realize that she wasn't anywhere nearly as concerned or stressed as they were, despite believing that Voldemort might be lurking nearby. When she'd realized this, she'd quietly asked someone who she'd thought would know.

Theo had been surprised, to say the least.

"You want to know why you're not afraid of the Dark Lord?" he repeated.

Hermione winced.

"Can you keep your voice down?" she hissed. "And… not like _that_. I mean, I have a general ominous feeling about if he returned to power, but not as much stress as… other people do."

"Returned to power?" Theo raised an eyebrow. "You don't think the Dark Lord was vanquished at the Potter's that fateful night?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"That's an interesting word to use, 'vanquish'," she said. "No one ever actually says that he _died._ "

There was a silence, and Theo gave her a slow look.

"I would imagine you're talking about your Gryffindor pals, being anxious about it," he said, and Hermione nodded. Theo cleared his throat and continued. "In that instance, I'd suggest that you're only working off an abstract idea of the Dark Lord, whereas they have much more direct experience with the Dark Lord and his reign."

"Direct experience?" Hermione questioned, quizzical. "They all would have only been one year old!"

"And they would have grown up hearing the stories and seeing the scars left behind," Theo said calmly. "Weasley lost family in that time, fighting against the Dark Lord. His mother would have told their story at least once a year. Longbottom's worse – his parents were tortured into insanity after the war by crazed followers of the Dark Lord, who believed they knew where they could find their Lord."

Hermione stared.

"Tortured- into _insanity?_ " Hermione repeated. "I- I didn't know that was possible."

Theo's look was grim.

"And Potter- well, he's the worst of the lot, isn't it?" he said. "His parents, both killed in front of him. The Dark Lord, going after him specifically. If Potter thinks the Dark Lord might return, he's probably right in thinking the Dark Lord will target _him."_

Hermione swallowed, imagining.

"And then there's you," Theo said, his eyes sharpening. "New Blood or Muggle-born, you were brought up in a Muggle house all the same. You grew up with your own stories, your own dangers to worry over. You never heard the stories, never learned the fear of the name. To you, it's still conceptual, almost a cultural fear of a myth you picked up from a storybook."

"I- it's not like that."

"Isn't it?" Theo looked angry, now. "You come in here, and you want to know why you're not afraid of the Dark Lord. Do you know what that even _means?_ Do you know what _happened_ to this country at all?"

"I _do_ fear the Dark Lord!" Hermione hissed. She grabbed Theo's tie and dragged him closer, glaring into his eyes. "Look at me. _Look at me._ I know his platform. I know who he targeted. I know who he killed. Do you honestly think I don't fear the Dark Lord?"

Theo looked startled and a little scared at her vehemence. Hermione let go with a disgusted look.

"Fearing the Dark Lord isn't the same as being _afraid_ of the Dark Lord," she said. "It's more… I'm afraid of a rampaging dragon, that burns anything in its path. But I have a healthy fear of a sphinx, who is terrible, to be sure, but only cuts down the unworthy and isn't indiscriminate about the damage they cause."

Theo gave her a long look.

"You think the Dark Lord would find you worthy," he said finally. "Despite your Muggle upbringing. Despite your Muggle blood."

"New Blood," Hermione corrected.

Theo waved her off. "Whatever."

Hermione met his gaze steadily as he looked at her.

"I suppose if the Dark Lord ever returns, we'll find out if he judges you worthy or not," Theo said slowly. "It could go either way. I hope he _would_ , Hermione – but no one can predict what the Dark Lord would do."

Theo gave her a look, a look that clearly read _Do not speak of this conversation to anyone or I will kill you_ , before leaving the classroom. Hermione observed his toss of his head and shoulders, and idly wondered if he was trying for a dramatic exit like Snape made, only to have it fall drastically short without the use of a cape.

Hermione scowled after him.

"I thought the Dark Lord valued _power_ ," Hermione muttered to herself, sulky. "And if he truly values _power..._ I've got that in spades."


	58. Final Exams

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find she was _enjoying_ her exams. The written papers weren't nearly as challenging as she had feared, and she enjoyed the chance to show off her knowledge without worrying about how she appeared to the other Slytherins. The practical exams were fun as well. Professor Flitwick had called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Hermione found it easy. She paused as it reached the other side of the table, an impish smile touching her lips as Flitwick wrote in his book, a quick guess based on him being the choir teacher, and she went for it.

"Do dee doo do, do dee doo do…"

Flitwick jerked his head up sharply, recognition flaring in his eyes to Hermione's relief.

She did her best to hum as she made the pineapple tap-dance to _Singing in the Rain,_ and Flitwick laughed and clapped his hands in delight, before singing it and humming along with her – his voice much better, as the choir teacher.

By the end of it, Flitwick had stood up and roared with his applause.

"That was marvelous!" he told her. "Doing the edge of the desk for the curb! You remembered the entire number! How creative! What skill for a first year!"

"It was one of my mother's favorite movies," Hermione told him, smiling. "I must have seen it a hundred times."

"Oh, extra credit for that, Miss Granger-!" he said, writing on his scroll. "Oh, well done-!"

Not all her classes were easy to try and earn extra points for. Transfiguration, she managed to turn her mouse into a snuffbox, but points were given on how _pretty_ the snuffbox was, and _pretty_ was a subjective criterion. McGonagall had given her a rare smile at the Baroque ornamented gold snuffbox she'd managed to produce, though, so Hermione hoped she'd managed to do well.

For Potions, both Hermione and Theo brewed (independently, mind you) the more advanced version of the Forgetfulness Potion they'd done a month ago. Hermione's turned out just a shade truer than Theo's, and she shot him a smug grin as she turned in her flask, Theo rolling his eyes and grinning. Both of theirs were much clearer then the murky results of the rest of the class, and they both left the exam earlier than the rest of the students, Snape waving them off with a sigh.

The last exam was History of Magic, which was the most frustrating for Hermione. Not only was there no practical to go above and beyond on, but it was a list of questions about irrelevant historical trivia that had had to be rote memorized – there was no greater system of knowledge to link the details Binns had wanted to. She was glad that she'd felt confident at each answer, but she was frustrated that she'd had to bother at all. Surely there was more to Wizarding history than _this…_?

After exams were over, the weather was hot, so Hermione gamely tagged along to the side of the lake where the Gryffindor boys were de-stressing, with Ron and Neville trying to skip rocks, Harry sitting and rubbing his head.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked Harry, concerned.

"I just wish I knew what it _meant_ ," Harry said, prodding at his scar.

"You could go to Madam Pomfrey," Neville suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harry. "I think it's a warning… it means danger's coming…"

Hermione's mind flashed to Harry's encounter in the forest, and she shifted uneasily.

"Well, it's a curse scar from a Dark curse, so it might be reacting to Dark magic in the area," Hermione said slowly. "What's changed in the area that could be… Dark?"

"Hey!" Ron turned away from the lake to fix her with a piercing look.

Hermione glared back. " _What?_ "

"How do you know so much about Dark magic?" Ron demanded.

"Oh, honestly, Ronald!" Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation. "It's in our Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook! You'd know it too, if you'd ever bothered to _read your assignments!_ "

Ron flushed an unattractive mottled red. Harry was still rubbing his scar.

"It's got to be the Stone," Harry said. "It's got to be."

"Harry, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around," Ron reminded him. "Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once; he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

"Hey!" Neville chucked a rock at Ron, who tried to catch it and missed.

Harry nodded, but it was obvious to Hermione that he was still dwelling on it. For that matter, _she_ would probably be dwelling on someone trying to steal the Stone if she were in his place. As it was, she knew that there was absolutely no chance of the Stone being stolen from Hogwarts – not _anymore_ , at least. But Hermione wasn't about to admit _that_.

Harry abruptly jumped to his feet.

"Where're you going?" Ron asked.

"I've just thought of something," Harry said. He looked pale. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

He took off, running for Hagrid's hut. The others got to their feet to chase after him.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, stumbling slightly as he ran, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else in the world in a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket?"

Harry kept talking, but Hermione tuned him out as the picture crystalized in her mind. Of _course_ the dragon had been a trap for Hagrid. He'd probably told the stranger all about the dangerous creatures he'd taken care of, so he'd seem like a good dragon owner – which would have been exactly what the person would have wanted…

A quick conversation with the Hagrid confirmed Hermione's fears – and Harry's, too. Hermione tried not to betray her emotions, but Ron and Neville were clearly aghast at Hagrid's carelessness. As soon as their suspicions were confirmed, Harry took off for the entrance hall, the rest of them running after him again.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around the halls, as if there would be a sign pointing them in the correct direction. It abruptly occurred to Hermione that she had no idea where Dumbledore resided, nor had she ever heard of someone being sent to see him.

"We'll just have to–" Harry started, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you four doing inside?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Neville, rather bravely.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated. The suspicion was heavy in her tone. "Why?"

"It's sort of secret," Harry said, McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

That struck Hermione as odd. He _flew_ there, instead of _Flooed_ there? It would take hours to get to London on a broom.

She made a mental note of it to examine later.

"He's _gone?"_ Harry said frantically. " _Now?_ "

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter. He has many demands on his time –"

"But this is important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"

"Look," Harry said, and Hermione winced at his tone, bracing herself. "Professor – it's about the Philosopher's Stone –"

The books McGonagall had been carrying tumbled from her arms.

"How do you know-?" she spluttered.

Privately, Hermione was surprised that _more_ people didn't know. She'd have expected the Weasley Twins to know at the _least_. Surely a group of first years hadn't been the only curious ones?

"Professor, I think – I _know_ – that Sn – that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed and she shut Harry down, informing him that Professor Dumbledore would be back the next day. She told them to go outside and enjoy the sunshine…

…but, of course, Harry wasn't having any of that.

"It's tonight," said Harry, checking to make sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note; I bet the Ministry will get a real shock when Dumbledore shows up."

"Oh, _honestly_ , Harry," Hermione snapped. "I'll give you Voldemort, _maybe_ , but it is not going to be –"

Neville gasped, and Hermione and Harry wheeled around.

Snape was standing there.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," Hermione responded, bowing her head. Snape nodded in her direction slightly, his eyes fixed on the boys.

The three Gryffindors stood there, staring at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were—" Harry began.

"You want to be more careful," Snape said. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

Hermione sighed and prepared herself. She was sure Harry had some sort of plan.

Harry's plan was terrible. It was basically to wander around the 3rd floor corridor guarding it, with one of them tailing Snape (despite her protestations that it _wasn't_ Snape). After a brief argument, Hermione refused to help.

"You do what you want," she informed them. "I'll meet up with you after dinner, but I am _not_ going to lurk around the castle suspiciously. It will just get you into more trouble."

Ron's eyes blazed in defiance, and Hermione flounced off.

She didn't go outside, however. There was a dark suspicion lurking in her mind.

Instead, she went to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, knocking on the door.

"C-c-c-come in, p-please."

Hermione entered the room, seeing Professor Quirrell writing furiously on papers at the front of the desk.

"Grading exams already, Professor?" she queried, looking around idly. The classroom seemed somehow… _emptier_ , than it had before. The posters of vampires had been put away.

"G-g-got to do it s-sometime, d-d-don't I?" Quirrell said, offering her a tremulous smile. Hermione laughed, offering him a small smile in return.

"How c-can I help you, M-M-Miss G-Granger?"

Hermione paused, carefully considering how to phrase what she wanted to say.

"There are rumors that there is a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," she said slowly. "You have lasted nearly the entire year."

Professor Quirrell turned his head to look up at her. His eyes sharpened on her.

"And…?" His voice was curt.

"Just… just in case something happened to you, before the official end of the year, I wanted to thank you," she told him, struggling to not bite her lip. "I appreciate you pointing me in the direction of the ritual books you did, and helping me along the path of knowledge, not telling me to shy from it instead."

Quirrell's eyes flickered with red, and there was an odd satisfaction and pride in his eyes.

"Did you now?" he asked, and there was a sly note to his voice. It very much did _not_ sound like Quirrell. Again, the stutter was gone.

"I did," Hermione said, nodding. "And…"

In for a penny, in for a pound, she supposed.

"…and should anything abruptly happen, something sudden and unexpected, I wanted to offer my services to… help make sure your things don't into the wrong hands."

Quirrell looked directly at her, and Hermione held her breath. His eyes felt like they were burning hers.

"You want my spell books, if something should happen to me," he summarized.

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well, yes, but only temporarily," she admitted. "Presumably, you would have some things, being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, that might cause concern or inquiries from Dumbledore or the Ministry. If something were to happen, I could hurry and take care of any such things for you, and then return them to you once you were better or in a safe place to have them again."

Quirrell raised an eyebrow.

"You think I might get hurt, Miss Granger?" he queried.

He was watching her carefully. Hermione took a deep breath, summoning her inner Gryffindor.

"Well, Snape _did_ get bitten at Halloween, sir," she said steadily. "Sometime the best of plans can go awry from the simplest things."

Quirrell regarded her for a long moment, before he started to laugh. It was low and dark, and his eyes sparked with malice.

"Smart girl," he purred, and Hermione shuddered. "To _know_ , and to come to _me_ , and not go to that bumbling fool…"

He reached into his desk, pulling out a large rock of obsidian. It had a rune of some sort roughly hewn into it, and there was a thick, heavy aura around it. Hermione gasped; she recognized the rune and stone from one of her books – one of the Dark ritual tomes.

"This is a traditional ward stone," he informed her, his eyes gleaming. "Do you know what this does?"

"It protects personal property," Hermione said, hesitating. "Anyone who isn't bound to the rune stone cannot enter or touch the protected property." She paused. "They're not used much anymore, since the Ministry of Magic began looking down on blood magic."

Quirrell looked at her and raised an expectant eyebrow. His face seemed almost completely different from that of her cowering DADA teacher – somehow sharper, leaner, _meaner_.

Forcing herself to stay brave, Hermione held out her hand.

The blade appeared from nowhere and slit Hermione's left palm, stinging. It hurt more than she thought it would, but then Quirrell was smearing her palm over the stone, whispering words into the stone… or was that _hissing?_

A moment later, the blood seemed to seep _into_ the stone, and the stone turned a dull red color, before returning to its normal black. Quirrell turned to her, looking satisfied.

"You understand what this means?" he told her, wiping off his knife with a handkerchief. "If something happens and I vanish, you will collect my things and hold onto them until they can be returned to _me?_ "

Hermione nodded.

"I understand, sir," she said, bowing her head.

There was a silence, and then Quirrell laughed. It was high and cold.

"Slytherin to the core, but with a streak of Gryffindor in you, aren't you?" He smirked. "You have gained my favor, if nothing else. Now go – enjoy the rest of the day." His eyes gleamed. "There might not be another one so nice for quite a while."

Hermione could tell when she was being dismissed. Nearly shaking with her bravery, Hermione managed to make it outside, get to the tree next to the lake, and collapse.

"I think I've agreed to board Lord Voldemort's things," she told a butterfly, fluttering nearby. "What do I do now?"

The butterfly didn't seem to give any indication one way or the other. With a deep sigh, Hermione sat back against the tree, tried to relax, and dozed until dinner.


	59. The Third Floor Corridor

After dinner, Hermione met back up with Harry, Neville, and Ron in the Gryffindor Common Room. The afternoon had not gone well for them.

"McGonagall threatened to take more points off if she caught us near the third floor corridor again," Harry said. "Took offense that we thought we were stronger than all the protections that were already on the Stone…"

"Snape kept turning up, too," Ron said grimly. "Slimy git can't wait to get his hands on it…"

"Dumbledore is still away at the Ministry," Neville added. "I asked Professor Sprout if he'd be back in time for the year-ending feast, and she told me."

There was a tense silence.

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said.

Hermione turned to look at him. He looked pale, and his eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try to get to the Stone first."

"You're mad!" Ron exclaimed.

Hermione opened her mouth, before pausing, then deliberately closing her mouth. Harry's jaw was set, and defiance was flaming in his eyes. Nothing she said – _nothing_ – was going to reach him now.

And she wasn't about to appeal to his sense of logic and rationality when it was clear all such reasoning ability was gone.

"You're serious?" Hermione said, staring at him in disbelief. "You're seriously going to _go through the traps_ instead of waiting for a teacher to deal with it?"

"Snape already knows how to get through all the traps!" Harry's eyes flashed. "We have to follow him and hold him off. If Voldemort gets the stone… well…"

Not for the first time since she had heard the news, Hermione felt a twinge of guilt. The stone was safe at Gringotts, and so far, no one knew she'd replaced it with a fake. Oddly, Hermione felt a sense of disappointment. She'd been genuinely excited to win the obstacle course.

Biting her lip, Hermione considered her options. If she admitted she had the stone, when it _wasn't_ supposed to be a prize for beating the obstacle course, she could possibly get charged with theft. She wasn't entirely sure how the legal system worked in the Wizarding World, but she imagined it wouldn't be to her advantage to learn that for the first time as a defendant.

The safest option for her was to act as if she had no other information about the stone, and as if she, too, thought Voldemort was after it. Them going after it might even help secure the veracity of the stone in Voldemort's mind.

And if she _didn't_ go with them, they'd likely get themselves killed.

"Fine," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Let me get my pack, and we'll head out from here at curfew."

The three stared at her.

"…you're coming with us?" Ron said dubiously.

"Of course. You promised I could come on the next adventure. And besides," she said, folding her arms, "you'll probably get yourselves killed without me."

Harry and Neville exchanged a look, before nodding.

"Get whatever you need to," Harry told her. "Make sure you're back up here before curfew."

Hermione's dungeoneering pack sat undisturbed under her bed, unused since January. She changed into her black denims and a long-sleeved black shirt as well – after all, they _were_ going to be creeping about the school at night. She cast a glance up at the heavy stone crowns before slinging the bag over her shoulders and leaving without them. She doubted she'd be able to get a free pass through the chess game, even if she _did_ have the white crown.

The wait for nightfall was intense. Ron and Neville attempted to play gobstones while Harry paced, and Hermione sat curled up in a chair with a book, considering everything that could go wrong while they waited. Biting her lip, she discreetly penned a letter to Snape, detailing Harry's ridiculous plan, how she was sure it was Quirrell they were actually going to find, but how she felt obligated to go along to keep him alive. She also made sure to mention that they only reason they were going on this insane quest was because McGonagall didn't trust her own House members; the fact that she was writing Snape a letter was clear evidence that Slytherin worked to the contrary.

She put it in an envelope, marked it clearly "Severus Snape" on the envelope, and sealed it. She'd drop it in the hallway as they left, and Filch and Mrs. Norris would find it for sure.

When the time came, Harry stood.

"All right," he said. He looked at them all and winced. "This is going to be a _tight_ fit."

"A tight fit…?" Hermione questioned, and Harry withdrew a cloak out of nowhere.

As he settled it about his body, Hermione gasped.

"That's – you have an _invisibility cloak?_ "

"Don't tell anyone," Ron warned, but Hermione was still gaping.

"Where- how did you-"

"Family heirloom," Harry said shortly. "Can we go now?"

In order to fit them all, they'd had to condense as much as possible. Hermione ended up on Harry's back, piggy-back style, and Neville on Ron's, who was whining about the extra weight, but shut up when Harry offered to trade partners.

They crept slowly down the hallways, as quietly as possible. Hermione discreetly dropped her letter when they heard Filch creeping around nearby, though they didn't run into him directly.

When they got to the 3rd floor corridor, the door was unlocked already.

"Snape's already inside," Harry said grimly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry had a roughly-hewn wooden flute that he began playing as he opened the door, and despite his lack of skill, Hermione was pleased to see the Cerberus' eyes droop almost immediately. Hermione stashed the cloak in her bag while Ron and Neville went over to the trap door and opened it, and to Hermione's horror, jumped immediately inside.

"What on earth-?! Oh Merlin…"

Hermione crossed her fingers that Neville would be able to recognize the Devil's Snare quickly. She gestured for Harry to jump first, before she followed him quickly, slamming the trap door closed behind her.

The soft thump of her landing had her already prepared, blasting through the plant around her with _Incendio_ as a matter of course. Neville had at least recognized the plant and was doing his best to escape, but Ron was tangled quite tightly, the plant constricting his chest.

"Fight it with fire," Hermione cried out to them, falling through the plant herself.

She quickly regained her feet. Looking up through the plant, she aimed at where Harry was.

 _"Incendio!"_

Harry fell through shortly, to Hermione's relief, and Hermione moved on to Neville. From the sound of it, Neville was struggling to keep both himself and Ron from being strangled, as Ron couldn't get to his wand. It was brave, but ultimately foolish, in Hermione's opinion.

With Harry's help, soon both boys were falling free, Ron coughing as he hit the ground hard.

"Thank Merlin you're brilliant at Herbology, Neville," he managed to get out. "Otherwise that plant would have strangled the both of us alive."

Harry cast a sideways glance at Hermione, who ignored it.

"Let's keep going," Harry said resolutely, and they all followed him as he opened the next door.

The room was filled with dozens of glittering, winged keys. Hermione watched them as Harry looked up in awe.

"They're- they're keys! And look!"

He gestured to the brooms, and Neville went pale.

"We have to catch the right one…"

"But there are dozens of them!" Ron looked uneasy.

"Look! There, the silver one, with the blue wings. One of the wings is slightly bent! We'll catch that one!"

"Or," Hermione said, as the final _click_ of the tumbler slid into place, and she opened the door, "we can just keep going instead."

There was a silence.

"Is that a lock picking set?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Does it matter if it is?"

There was a pause.

"No," Harry said finally. "Let's go."

Hermione let out a breath of relief as she slid the lock picking set back into her pack, and they all piled through the doorway.

As the sconces lit, Ron's face came alive.

"Chess…" he breathed.

Hermione bit her lip, reluctant to admit it, but she was grateful Ron was with them. At least, for this.

"We have to play our way across," he said. He looked at the pieces, nodding. "Okay. Harry, you take the king's side bishop. Neville, you take that castle. Hermione-"

"Hermione will be taking the king," Hermione interrupted smoothly, holding her hand out expectantly to the large stone figure. The piece wordlessly handed over his crown, and Hermione set about securing it to her head through some intricate braids.

"I was going to give you the queen," Ron objected.

"Nope. King." Hermione was defiant.

"What are you going to be, Ron?" Harry said quickly.

"Me? I'll be a knight…"

The chess game was close, Hermione could tell. It was just as terrifying as the first time she'd done it – perhaps even more so, with the danger of her friends being hurt.

When the white queen turned her blank face towards Ron, Hermione winced, and Harry caught her expression.

"What-?"

"It's okay," Ron said, though he'd gone pale. "I have to. After this, Harry, you'll be free to checkmate the king."

"You can't sacrifice yourself!" Neville's knees were trembling, but he stayed on his square. "You can't!"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?" Ron demanded. There was a silence, and Ron nodded once, decisive. "That's what I thought."

Ron moved slowly into place, bracing himself for the impact. The white queen slid over and struck him hard, her marble arm crashing into his head and sending him across the room with a yell to hit the wall hard, where he dropped down, out cold. The horse he'd been on lay in shambles on the board, destroyed.

Hermione winced, while Neville screamed.

"Harry," Hermione said sharply. "Your move. Finish this."

Looking sick to his stomach, Harry moved across the board, shaking.

"Checkmate…?"

It sounded like a question.

The white king threw its stone crown at Harry's feet, and Harry grabbed it before they all rushed over to Ron in relief.

"He's unconscious," Hermione said, checking him over. "He needs Madam Pomfrey – bad."

Harry looked grim. "There isn't time. We'll have to leave him."

"Absolutely not," Hermione snapped. She turned to Neville. "Neville, take Ron to Madam Pomfrey. I'll get Harry through the rest of the obstacles."

"You two? Alone?" Neville looked doubtful, and Hermione drew herself up.

"Neville," she said. "We can't let Voldemort win in any way – and that includes making us leave our friends behind. Ron might have a serious concussion, and I can't carry him. He needs medical help, and you're the only one to do it. We need you right now."

Neville's eyes flashed, and he straightened himself.

"Right," he said, nodding decisively. "I can do this. Not every soldier in a war is on the front lines, but everyone contributes to the win."

It sounded almost like he was quoting something, something she didn't recognize. Hermione blinked, but nodded anyway. "Exactly."

Harry helped Ron up onto Neville's shoulders, while Hermione cast the best Feather-light charm on Ron's body she could, knowing Neville wouldn't be able to maintain a _Locomotor Mortis_ charm with his agitated state.

As Neville set off, Hermione turned to Harry.

"Ready?" she said simply.

Harry gave her a look and nodded silently.

Hermione crept over to the next door, peeking around it, before sighing in relief.

"We're good," she said. "Let's go."

They walked quietly past a large troll, which seemed to have been knocked out. The room stank of troll blood.

"We need to go over this next threshold together," Hermione said. "Take my arm. Ready? On three…"

They stepped carefully over the threshold, purple fire erupting in the doorway behind them, black fire blocking their way forward.

"What is this…?" Harry said, looking at the bottles. "Snape's puzzle…?"

"It's a logic puzzle," Hermione said, her eyes scanning the scroll for any changes. There were none. "Take the smallest bottle, Harry – it'll get you through to the final room. That's where…" she hesitated. "That's where Voldemort's servant will be."

Harry picked up the smallest bottle, but instead of taking it, he turned to her.

"How do you know it's the final room?" he asked.

Hermione kept a carefully blank expression as she shrugged.

"All the other teachers have had their puzzle," she said. "All that's left is Dumbledore's."

Harry's face was stone.

"You knew about the Devil's Snare," he told her. "You _knew_ about the Flying Keys room – you had those lock picks at the ready. And you knew about this room, and the next – you've _been_ through this before, haven't you?"

Hermione winced.

"Look," Hermione said quietly. "Yes, I have. I thought it was an obstacle course – a scholastic challenge. I wanted to beat it."

Harry looked disbelieving, but Hermione went on.

"When I got here, there were so many fantastic things – was a school-wide challenge really that out of the realm of possibility?" Hermione was flustered, waving a hand as she spoke rapidly. "When a first-year spell could open the door, and the corridor wasn't even warded? I thought it was a challenge. I thought it was an extra-credit obstacle course – a competition. And I like to _win_."

Harry started to grin, and Hermione blushed.

"You _would_ ," he said with amusement. Hermione rolled her eyes but smirked.

"The next room is the last," she said seriously. "There's a mirror in there – a fancy one with odd writing around the frame. It shows weird things."

Harry's eyes flared with recognition, and Hermione felt her own suspicions confirm.

"I don't think I can follow you," Hermione said quietly. "Good luck."

Harry stood up straight, resolute. "Right."

He drained the small bottle and stepped through the flames, and Hermione sighed, before drinking from the round bottle and returning to the troll room.

The troll smelled _awful_ , and Hermione took her time to stop and examine it this time, curious. It seemed like the troll had been knocked out by severe head trauma, somehow. Had someone conjured a tree trunk to bash its head in? She glanced around, idly wondering if it was its own club that had done it.

The troll looked like it wasn't about to get up again, so Hermione settled in to wait. After a minute or so, she saw the purple flames die down, and after a moment's thought, she got up and went back into the potion room. The flames sprung back up, but Hermione ignored them, focusing instead on grabbing the small potion bottle.

She still seemed able to get through the purple flames herself. She returned to the troll room again, setting down the bottle, before going back to the room twice more after the flames dies down each time.

It was just as she had returned from her third trip that she could hear footsteps charging towards her. She straightened, dusting off her robes, and picked up the small bottles.

A moment later, Professor Dumbledore rounded the corner, followed closely by Professor Snape. They both skidded to a halt when they saw her, and Hermione nodded respectfully.

"Harry's in the last chamber," she told them, offering them each a small bottle. "He's been in there for over five minutes, but under ten. I'd hurry."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he took one of the bottles and downed it cheerfully, before running towards the potion chamber himself. He seemed to be a man on a mission; his eyes had barely registered Hermione before he'd moved on.

Snape stood there a moment longer, regarding her carefully.

"You were prepared for us to come through here, so you stockpiled these?" he questioned her.

Hermione shrugged. "For _someone_ to come through – you, McGonagall, Dumbledore, hell, even _Hagrid_ – who _knows_ who Weasley and Neville would have called for help?"

Snape's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile.

"Thank you," he said, drinking the potion. He shuddered, then gave her a curt look. "You should get out of here."

"I should," agreed Hermione amicably, turning towards the chess room. "Good luck, sir," she added.

Snape nodded once, then took after Dumbledore. Hermione watched him vanish behind brilliant violet flames, before heading back through the chess room.

She'd done her job, getting Harry help to make sure he survived the encounter. Hermione wasn't about to stick around near an unconscious _troll_ when there were finally adults around to take care of things, to say nothing of _Voldemort_ facing off with Harry in the next room.

She rather thought he'd be none too pleased with her if he learned she'd been helping Harry.


	60. Telling a Tale

"And the stone's gone?" Ron said again.

Harry nodded. "It _shattered_ , when Voldemort made Quirrell come after me for it. Quirrell grabbed me, his skin started burning, and the stone _shattered_. I'm lucky I didn't get stone shards stuck in my hands. Dumbledore said it probably had to do with whatever Dark magic Quirrell was about to use targeting the stone instead of me."

Harry started telling them about his mother's protection somehow protecting him, and Hermione tuned him out. She'd heard all this before; she'd eavesdropped when Dumbledore came to visit Harry in the Hospital Wing. If Dumbledore had known she was under Harry's cloak, he hadn't let on.

"Are you going to be okay, though?" Neville asked, looking unsure.

"I'll be fine," Harry said, offering them a grin. "Madame Pomfrey just wants to make sure I don't over-exhaust myself. I scared her a lot, I think."

"How soon?" Ron wanted to know. "Last Quidditch match is tomorrow."

Harry looked uneasy. "I…"

Hermione winced. Harry had escaped a lot of the worst of what could have happened, protected by Dumbledore's timely arrival and Snape's quick battleground triage, but to play Quidditch so soon after his injury?

"It's a miracle he's not still unconscious, after what he went through," Madame Pomfrey snapped, bustling into the room. She set several potions down on Harry's nightstand. "He's in no shape to play Quidditch."

"But it's the last game of the season!" Ron objected. "And Gryffindor doesn't have a reserve Seeker!"

"Gryffindor will just have to do without," Madame Pomfrey said coolly. She turned to Harry. "Drink these. Then all of you, out! Mister Potter here needs his _rest_."

"I'm not tired," Harry objected, but Hermione smiled and shook her head. She could see the strain in his face as he tried not to yawn.

"You may visit again tomorrow," Madame Pomfrey informed them, " _if_ Harry is feeling up to it."

Hermione and Neville stood and thanked her, while Ron glared at her departing back, sulking.

"Feel better, Harry," Hermione said, resting a hand on his for a moment. She offered him a soft smile, and Harry looked surprised. "Take care."

They left the Hospital Wing. It was only just past the doors that Ron turned to Neville, earnest.

"We have to do _something_ ," he said. "Gryffindor will lose the match without Harry!"

"We could tell Wood?" Neville offered. "After all, he's the captain."

They took off for the Gryffindor common room, Neville waving goodbye as they ran off, and Hermione shook her head to herself, bemused, as she descended into the cool of dungeons.

Most of the Slytherins were there, taking refuge from the abrupt heat spell in the cool under the lake. Some of them glanced up as she entered, and there was a murmur as they recognized who it was.

" _Hermione_ ," someone breathed in relief, and suddenly, her classmates were around her.

"What _happened?_ "

"The Gryffindors are saying you _killed Quirrell!_ "

"What happened to Potter?"

"Snape won't tell us _anything!_ " This last was whined by Tracey.

Hermione looked at her friend. "What makes you think something happened at all?"

"The teachers have been going in and out of the third-floor corridor all day, emptying it of weird things and guarding the hallway from us," Theo said. "The older students are saying it reeks of Dark magic. On top of that, Quirrell was just _gone_ , along with Potter, Longbottom, Weasley, and _you_."

"So if anyone knows what's going on, it'll be you," Tracey said expectantly. "So. Spill."

Hermione's lips twitched, and she grinned.

"Okay, I'll tell you all," she said. "I'll tell you what actually happened. Merlin knows the Gryffindors are probably getting all the details wrong."

She sat, and her classmates (and a lot of others) sat around her, giving her their undivided attention.

Hermione smiled. This was kind of nice.

She started at the beginning, or as close as she could – with Harry's suspicion that the Philosopher's Stone was hidden in the school, and his utter conviction that Snape was after it.

It was fun to tell the story. The Slytherins hissed every time she mentioned the Gryffindors' suspicion of Snape, and they looked like they were sitting on tenterhooks when she described the decision that they would go in after Voldemort to get the stone themselves.

"That was dumb," Adrian Pucey commented, folding his arms. "Potter seriously thought he could beat Snape?"

"I don't think he was thinking very clearly at all," Hermione said, shrugging. "He probably thought it was a suicide mission, but he didn't really think he had another option."

"Did _you?_ " Draco asked. His eyes were piercing.

Hermione snorted. "Do you really think I'd have gone along if I thought it was a suicide run?"

She detailed each of the challenges facing them as the group had made their way to the stone. She took her time, telling the tale more as a _story_ , rather than just a factual list of the order of events. Her audience gasped and groaned at the revelation of Hagrid's mad three-headed dog, and she got several approving murmurs from her quick handling of the Devil's Snare.

The next room caused some difficulty.

"Wait, you used _what?_ " Pansy wanted to know.

"Lock picks," Hermione repeated patiently. "They're a muggle tool used to manually open locks."

"Why did you even _have_ lock picks?" Pansy asked, making a face. "With _Alohomora_ , it's not like any wizard would even _need_ them."

"Except we _did_ , didn't we?" Hermione said coolly. "The door and its lock were spelled to resist magic. Not Muggle tools."

"Bet Weasley was disappointed he didn't have an excuse to fly around on a broom," Daphne said, snickering, and several others snickered around her. Theo, however, was giving her a considering look.

Hermione continued, describing the chess room board, how the pieces came to life, and how they had had to play their way across the board. Blaise's head had come up, his ears almost visibly twitching at the mention of a giant chessboard, and Hermione didn't much care for the look of the slowly-growing smirk on his face as she finished describing the room, saying how Ron had gotten captured, reiterating how glad she'd been that she'd taken the place of the king.

"A giant magic chess set," he murmured. "You don't say…"

She told them how she'd ordered Neville off with Ron to the Hospital Wing, continuing with Harry on her own. How the troll had been knocked out and bleeding, and how they'd gotten to Snape's room together, and the puzzle he'd left. There were appreciative murmurs at Snape's puzzle, and nods when Hermione said that she'd solved it, which unexpectedly bolstered her – no one seemed to be questioning that she was smart enough to solve his puzzle.

She explained how she'd sent Harry ahead to the last room to face Quirrell, how she'd gone back to the troll room to wait for help, and how she'd given Dumbledore and Snape the small potions she'd gathered when they'd come charging through minutes later.

Hermione then detailed what had happened between Harry and Quirrell before Dumbledore had gotten there, taking particular delight in the horrified gasps when she described Quirrell revealing Voldemort on the back of his head.

"So You-Know-Who really _is_ still alive?" Millie said, looking worried.

"He's like a shade right now," Hermione said. "A wandering spirit. But yes, he's alive." She turned grim. "If he manages to get another body, a real one of his own, not one he's slowly rotting through possession, then there will be problems. But for right now… there's time, yet, before…"

She trailed off, looking out at her crowd. Some of her classmates had fierce glints in their eyes, but more of them looked somber.

Hermione cleared her throat.

The end of the story was quick, but dramatic – Harry finding the stone (she couldn't _believe_ the mirror had worked _exactly the same_ with the duplicate stone as it had with the real one), Quirrell attacking him, Quirrell's body burning and decaying to ash where he touched Harry, and the stone exploding in his hand. How Dumbledore had finally reached the scene, too late to capture Voldemort as he fled Quirrell's dying body, but in time to rescue Harry, whom he had personally carried to the hospital wing.

" _That_ is way more surreal than what the Gryffindors are saying," Theo said, after she was done. "They were saying that Quirrell was trying to kill Potter for the defeat of the Dark Lord, and Potter somehow lured him into the Forbidden Corridor as a defense."

Hermione smirked. "I suspect that the Gryffindor rumor mill isn't particularly accurate or efficient," she commented. "Especially if the Weasley twins are involved at all."

This seemed to reassure the others, who all broke apart to discuss this in quiet murmurs amongst themselves. Hermione stayed in her seat, resting, while Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne pulled their chairs in closer.

"Potter's still in the Hospital Wing," Draco said. He looked at her. "Will he be out in time for tomorrow's Quidditch match?"

Hermione made a face.

"Absolutely not," she told him. "Madame Pomfrey was livid at Weasley for suggesting it."

"Tomorrow, then," he told her seriously. "The last stage of Downfall to Weasley. It's the best time."

Hermione bit her lip. "What exactly do I have to do?"

Theo began talking in a low voice. They would wind up Ron, they told her. They'd make sure to sit near enough to make smart remarks and infuriate him, and because Snape wasn't refereeing, Snape would be enough of a deterrent to Ron that he'd refrain from getting physical and attacking them.

"The thing the plan depends on the most is Gryffindor losing," Theo told her. "But with Potter out, and no relief Seeker… their odds aren't looking good."

After they lost, Hermione would step in to offer Ron comfort or consoling words – right as he passed by the teachers, as close to the enchanted microphone as they could get as they left the stands. Ron, with his explosive temper, would probably take out his fury on Hermione as the closest non-Gryffindor target. He would say something hateful, and at that point, all she needed to do was cry.

"It's perfectly timed," Theo emphasized. "You just went after these three idiots and helped keep them alive, and everyone knows it. Potter won't be there to be his restraint. Weasley being cruel to you and making you cry will demonize him in front of everyone, and everyone in the school will be there to see it."

Hermione bit her lip, but nodded, resolute.

"I… If I do this, I'll probably end up crying for real," she admitted. She looked up at them, unsure. "Can… will someone…"

"We'll be right there," Daphne reassured her, earnest. "I'll be right there to help you calm down, while Weasley's getting torn to shreds by the professors. You're to be looked at as a good person Weasley victimized – not someone weak. Don't worry. We've got you."

Hermione looked around at her classmates, and they all nodded. She nodded slowly back.

"I'll be ready," she said, sighing. "I'll do it."

At the completion of their plotting, Daphne drifted off to go talk to Millie, but the boys lagged behind, all with a certain gleam in their eyes.

"What a coincidence, that McGonagall's puzzle was a chess set," Blaise said, offering her a sly grin. "How lucky you were that Weasley was there to play it for you – seeing as you're crap at chess."

Hermione tried to keep her face lily-white and emotionless, though she felt a rush of blood to her cheeks against her will. She fought to hide her instinctive response at his unstated accusation.

"What a stroke of luck that you happened to have Muggle lock picks on you," Theo said, his eyes glinting. "Who knows how long it would have taken to catch and use the right key?"

"How lucky it was that you were so _prepared_ for what Potter thought was a _suicide run_ ," Draco said, his eyes unreadable. "Why, it's almost as if you knew exactly what was coming, before you got to it."

Hermione stood deliberately, brushing off her robes, raising an eyebrow at them. Her heart was pounding in her chest, even as she fought to keep her face expressionless.

"Are you going to stand around _implying_ things all day," she said finally, "or do you have a formal accusation to make?"

That struck them, she saw, and they each recoiled a bit. A formal accusation was a token from a bygone era, where purebloods would denounce each other and duel to the death.

"I am just _wondering_ ," Draco said slowly, carefully, "why a corridor seemingly _designed_ to protect a very powerful artifact was so easily overcome by a group of first years."

"Oh." Hermione tossed her head. "That's easy – Dumbledore was trying to lure out-" she faltered "-the Dark Lord."

Harry might be brave enough to call him 'Voldemort,' but Hermione couldn't get away with that in Slytherin – not if she wanted to fit in.

"You think it was a trap?" Blaise asked.

"Of _course_ it was a trap," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "None of the obstacles were particularly deadly. What most of them were designed to do was _take up time_. I imagine Dumbledore put them all up as a way of stalling the Dark Lord before he could get to the end, in order for him to be caught."

"Yeah, by _Potter_ ," Draco snorted, but Hermione looked thoughtful.

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if _that_ was on purpose, too," she said. "Harry had… an _unusual_ amount of information come his way this year, leading him to what all he knew about the stone. I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore wanted to see how Harry could handle this weakened version of You-Know-Who. Maybe he was hoping he'd finish him off."

Draco and Theo looked thoughtful at that, and they nodded, before going their separate ways. Hermione was left with Blaise as she started heading toward her dormitory.

" _I_ am not about to be so easily distracted, love," Blaise told her, with a sly grin. "So tell me – _why_ did you play against McGonagall's chess set before?"

Hermione sighed.

"I thought it was an obstacle course, all right?" she snapped. "I thought it was a school-wide test. It seemed too easy to _actually_ be forbidden, and I wanted to get to the end and _win._ "

Blaise laughed delightedly. To Hermione's surprise, he took her hand and suddenly pulled her into a spin, then caught her, as if they were dancing.

"You are a treasure," he pronounced, his eyes alight. "What a shame you were met by a troll on the other side. Though, if I were to bet on anyone from our class to go up against a troll, it would be you."

He pressed a chaste kiss to her hair, twirled her out of his arms again with a laugh, and went off to the boys' dormitory with a jaunt to his step.

Hermione felt the flush of her face as she went to her own room, not quite sure whether to be offended that Blaise had presumed she couldn't best a troll, or to be _glad_ that Blaise had assumed she hadn't gotten farther, so no one was the wiser about her pre-emptively stealing Voldemort's goal.


	61. The Witching Hour

Hermione left the dungeons very, very late that night, at nearly 3am. She wore black denims, a black turtleneck, and Harry's invisibility cloak around her.

Part of her was utterly terrified, but part of her felt oddly still and settled.

She had asked for this, hadn't she?

Hermione silently crept up from the dungeons, careful to avoid Mrs. Norris, making her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The door was locked. It yielded to a hushed, _"Alohomora!"_ and Hermione made her way inside.

The classroom had been stripped. Hermione looked around, unable to tell if Quirrell had stripped the classroom, or if another teacher had already been through. She moved towards Quirrell's private office with her wand out, figuring this door would be locked, too. As she reached for the doorknob, there was a sharp _zap_ across her hand, and she stifled a yelp as a cut materialized on her hand, blood pooling from her hand onto the doorknob itself. The doorknob glowed an eerie red for a long moment, and the door swung silently open.

Hermione stared into the darkened room for a long moment, uneasy, before whispering, _"Episkey"_ to staunch the bleeding of her palm.

She was glad she'd gotten permission from Quirrell before trying this. She imagined that curse would have been none too pleasant otherwise.

Not that she would have dared.

This room, too, was dark, but there were two trunks that stood in the middle of the room. Hermione moved to examine them. They looked identical, save one had sealed letter on it, embossed with a wax seal of a skull and a snake. Shivering, Hermione turned it over in her hands.

 _Miss Hermione Granger_

She figured she shouldn't have been surprised, but somehow, she still was.

The letter seemed to leap in her hands as she opened it, giving her a paper cut, and she swore as she stuck her finger in her mouth. The letter unfolded before her a moment later, and Hermione belatedly realized that this, too, was a blood-specific seal. She hadn't realized her blood from the ward stone could be tied to so many things.

Shifting in front of the window, Hermione read the letter by the eerie moonlight filtering through the trees.

 _Dear Hermione Granger,_

 _If you have this letter, then something has gone wrong. It was a risk, as you yourself said, but one I was willing to take. While I am undoubtedly livid at this setback, whatever happened to me was through no fault of your own. Know that I do not hold you responsible. Your Defense Professor, however, is most likely dead. Do not mourn him; he was largely useless and is the most likely cause for why I have failed. You did not like him, anyway._

 _Before you stand two chests. The one on the left is a decoy; it contains teaching materials, turbans, clothes, and other irrelevant details of a life not worth keeping. Leave it; the teachers will find it and presume Quirrell had packed and intended to flee in the night after our success. There are some Dark protections on it to make this chest seem genuine; do not try to open it._

 _The chest on the right is my own. I suspect that you, by now, have long suspected that Quirrell was not just himself. You are a bright girl, and I do not doubt you knew exactly whom you were dealing with when you offered to board my books. Your ambition will serve you well, and it has in this case; here are my books. Guard them with your life._

 _Alas, this is an incomplete collection, and only what I could gather again whilst I had Quirrell at my command. Some I was able to find from an old home of mine, but my most valuable tomes remain safely hidden. Still, this is probably best – even a very clever first year could get into trouble by delving too deep into the Dark, too fast._

 _Keep these for me. Do not show anyone. The trunk is keyed to your blood. Books you ought to beware of have been wrapped shut with belts or ribbons; I would advise you to avoid these tomes for now._

 _Hopefully, I will be able to return soon and see you again. At such a time, if you are still such a willing student, I would be happy to guide you in learning what these books have to offer._

 _Many pleasant returns._

There was a heavy silence as Hermione stared at the parchment in front of her, unmoving, only broken by the soft hoot of an owl out the window, which finally brought Hermione back to life. Almost robotically, Hermione brought her wand up, and with a whispered, " _Incendio,"_ all evidence of the note was gone.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hermione moved for the trunk on the right. When she touched the chest and nothing happened, she relaxed somewhat, before carefully standing it on end, fiddling with the invisibility cloak. It was a challenge, to wrap it around the trunk as well as herself, and in the end, she couldn't quite do it. She had to settle for wrapping the cloak around the trunk, with the possibility of using the cloak around herself and hugging herself around the chest against the wall if she heard anyone approaching.

Better she get caught alone than with the trunk. If she were caught with _this_ …

She couldn't even imagine the punishment she would face.

Hermione imagined possible outcomes as she carefully aimed her wand at the trunk, and with a _Wingardium Leviosa_ , guided it down to the dungeons, moving slowly to stay quiet, keeping carefully aware of how much power she was expending through the levitation spell. She imagined she'd be immediately expelled, for one, for stealing a professor's things, if nothing else. If they realized she'd been _chosen_ , that she'd arranged this _beforehand_ and hadn't told anyone…

Well, she'd read about Azkaban. She didn't think the wizards had an equivalent facility for the incarceration of minors, but the wizarding world didn't seem too keen on treating children like children, so she'd be surprised to learn juvenile detention was a thing.

It was very, very, _very_ carefully that Hermione managed to finally ease into the dungeons and push the chest underneath her bed, hiding it underneath her clothes. She was sweating and out of breath with wild eyes, her power reserves exhausted, but as the chest vanished beneath her winter robes, tension slowly bled from her body, and she allowed herself to take a shaky breath.

She collapsed into her bed, hesitating only to set her alarm for the usual time. No one could know she had been out late. And nighttime exploits or not, she was expected to get up and look nice for Ron to yell at her the next day.


	62. Downfall to Weasley

It was a really odd feeling, Hermione reflected that morning, to get up and decide what clothes you wanted to cry in.

The more Hermione thought about it, the more uncomfortable she felt. It was the end of the school year, and the Slytherins had subtly undermined Ron at every available opportunity. They'd largely succeeded – his housemates, by and large, were _not_ fans of him. She still felt somehow compelled, though – perhaps because not _everyone_ disliked Ron, only members of his house?

She wanted to back out. Desperately. But at this point, she couldn't _not_ let Ron yell at her until she was in tears. The idea of not doing it seemed foreign… it seemed _wrong._ Like something was pushing her on.

At least this would be the end of it, Hermione decided. Having Ron yell at her until she cried was the last thing they'd all agreed on as part of their 'Downfall to Weasley' plot. Maybe after this, it could all end.

Though Ron would still be a troll. It wasn't as if he'd ever learned a lesson from anything that had happened to him.

She sighed, pulling on one of her nicer green robes, pinning her Slytherin crest to her chest. It was a lot harder to show House Pride when it was so hot out – she couldn't bear the thought of wearing a scarf in this weather. After giving herself a long once-over, fixing her hair a bit, Hermione sighed and left, joining her friends, who were happily babbling about the Quidditch match.

"I can't believe they're going to play without Potter!" Flint was laughing. "This is going to be a slaughter!"

"It's not as if they have any other option," an older girl pointed out. "Classes are all over, and we all leave in a couple days. There's no time left to postpone the match."

"Brilliant!" Flint roared. He looked up abruptly, as if just seeing Hermione, and gave her a devious smile. It was quite frightening, actually; her parents would have had fits at the state of his teeth.

"And we have you to thank for it!" he said, and Hermione was abruptly grabbed, Flint rubbing her head hard with his knuckles, getting his hand tangled in her hair. "You and Professor Quirrell!"

"I hardly think _I_ had anything to do with Harry getting injured!" Hermione objected, fighting to get away from Flint. Several others were laughing, watching. "He seems quite able to do that all on his own!"

Flint laughed and let go of her, and Hermione stumbled away in a huff. Flint was looking at her fondly, though, like a little sister, and Adrian Pucey and another boy were laughing with him, but they were grinning at her. Hermione gave a tentative smile back but veered away from them, joining with Tracey and Blaise as they went down to the pitch, but when she glanced over at them, Pucey shot her a mischievous smile, one that she cautiously returned.

Maybe they really were just grateful that Harry couldn't play. He _was_ a Quidditch prodigy. With him playing, Hufflepuff wouldn't have stood much of a chance.

The match itself was tense. It was awkward to watch a match knowing someone was going to yell at you afterward, and Hermione found it hard to enjoy herself, but she tried her best. At least the Quidditch match wasn't quite as much of a slaughter as Hermione had feared it'd be; the rest of the Gryffindor team was playing as fiercely as possible, the Chasers aggressive beyond measure, and the Beaters doing their absolute best to obstruct Hufflepuff's Seeker. Hermione decided that this was better – it was giving the Slytherin boys more time to hassle Ron. Hermione could see them from across the stands behind Ron. Who knew what remarks Draco and Blaise and Theo were making? Were Crabbe and Goyle getting involved?

Whatever they were saying, it was working; Ron was clearly getting angrier and angrier – his face changed colors when he was mad.

The Hufflepuff Seeker, however, managed to catch the Snitch, giving Hufflepuff the win at 210-60. This meant they won the Quidditch cup, and Hermione was surprised to see there was an actual cup Hufflepuff won, like a Muggle sports trophy. Everyone was cheering, and Hermione amicably clapped along with them. Even though she didn't care who won, she was happy for Hufflepuff.

 _Better them than Gryffindor,_ she smiled to herself. Even with as many friends as she had in Gryffindor, it was hard not to internalize the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin in some way, shape, or form.

Hermione felt a gentle nudge on her back, and she turned.

"It's time," Daphne murmured. "Are you ready?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

As everyone began to leave, Hermione angled her path leaving the stands carefully, arriving just in front of the teacher's box as Neville and Ron arrived. She arrived just as planned, glancing around to confirm at least one teacher was around, before turning to the Gryffindors.

"Hi Ron, Neville! Wow, what a game!"

Hermione had practiced her excitement in the mirror that morning, and she was sure her eyes were alight. Neville looked surprised to see her, while Ron was glaring at the world.

"Hi, Hermione," Neville said back, offering a half smile. Ron just glared.

"It's a shame Harry wasn't able to play," Hermione said, "but wasn't it exciting? The Chasers seemed determined to cover for the lack of a seeker!"

Ron glared at her, as if she'd personally insulted him. Hermione fought the urge to flinch.

"It was quite intense," Neville agreed, as they fell into step with her. "I'm glad Gryffindor managed to put up a show."

"I couldn't quite keep track of what all was going on, of course," Hermione prattled on, "But the Gryffindors _did_ seem to be trying very hard. _Such_ a disappointment you lost. But it looked very-"

"What do you even care about sports?" Ron said abruptly, interrupting.

Hermione's eyes widened. "I-"

"You _don't_ ," Ron sneered. "You don't know _anything_ about Quidditch, Hermione. You just think it's all fun and games, don't you?"

Even though she knew that Draco and his friends had been winding Ron up all during the game, his sudden venom still caught her off guard.

"I- Ron, it _is_ just a game," Hermione said slowly. "That's what Quidditch _is_."

"It is **not**!" Ron yelled, and Hermione was startled to see him look so angry so fast. "It is **not** just a game!"

"Ron?" Neville looked alarmed. "Ron, what…?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Ron, I-"

"No, Hermione, you don't get it. You don't get _anything!_ You don't get how important this game was to Gryffindor, and you don't get that this isn't a time where it's okay to be happy!"

"But Ron- I'm not _in_ Gryffindor-"

"Right," Ron cut her off, sneering. "You're a stinking _Slytherin_. You're probably _happy_ Gryffindor lost."

"What are you even talking about, Ron?"

"I'm talking about how you're over here, chatting with us like nothing's wrong!"

Ron seemed to have lost it, and Hermione could see out of the corner of her eye the professors coming down the stairs and looking over at the commotion.

"You pretend like you're our friend, and like you're one of us, but you're _not!_ You're a scummy Slytherin, and you'll betray us in the end! You're probably _happy_ Harry was in the Hospital Wing! You're not actually our friend! You don't _belong_ with us! You don't even – you don't even belong _here!_ "

Hermione recoiled. "I- what-"

"Even scummy _Slytherins_ can follow Quidditch, but you don't even care that much," Ron snarled. "You don't even belong at _Hogwarts!_ Hermione, just- just GO AWAY!"

The hatred on Ron's face was hot and raw, and the venom in his eyes as he glared at her was real.

"I- _Ron_ -"

It was as she'd feared; Hermione didn't have to fake anything at all – she publicly dissolved into tear, with everyone able to see.

There was a rush of noise around her, but Hermione couldn't tell what was going on – her eyes were watery, and she was crying, rubbing her eyes and hiding her face in her hands. There was a loud explosion of noise around her, a sharp "Mr. Weasley!" from Professor McGonagall, and then a lot of yelling. Hermione ignored it, burying her face in her hands, her body shaking.

She didn't _belong_.

She wasn't a real friend.

She didn't have to pretend to cry – she was really _crying_ , her body wracked by sobs. As cruel as his words had been, Ron had been _right_ , Hermione thought. She was-

"It's okay, Hermione," a gentle voice interrupted her thoughts, and Hermione was surprised to realize it was Neville. "He didn't mean it."

"Yes, he _did_ ," Hermione objected, hiccoughing. "He _hates_ me, just because I'm Slytherin."

"Well, _I_ don't hate you, and Harry doesn't hate you," Neville said, awkwardly patting her back. "And- well, we're better friends with you than we are with Ron, anyway."

Hermione's mind screeched to a halt.

 _…What?_

Hermione looked up at Neville through her tears. "…Really?"

"Really," Neville said, nodding. "You're nice to us, you helped us learn how to do homework, and you were there when we needed you. We wouldn't have survived that corridor without you, you know. Ron's…" Neville trailed off, uncertain. "…Ron's just jealous of you, maybe. That we like you better, even though you're in Slytherin."

 _They liked her better?_

Her tears slowing now that Ron was no longer yelling at her, Hermione could see more clearly. Ron had been dragged off to the side, and to her surprise, so had a couple other Gryffindor boys and a few Slytherins. Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were standing there, towering over them. Professor McGonagall looked like she was scolding them all, furious, and Professor Snape's arms were folded ominously, as if he was just waiting his turn. All the students filing past were glancing at Hermione as she cried, and then looking at Ron, who was being yelled at by the professors, as they went back to the castle. Most of them were shooting Ron disgusted looks – even if they didn't know who he was, they could tell he'd made a first-year girl cry.

 _Mission accomplished_ , Hermione thought to herself, sniffling. _Right?_

Neville stiffened next to her, and hurriedly told her he had to go and rapidly scurried off. A moment later, the reason became clear – Professor Snape was approaching. Hermione looked up at him, and he looked down at her for a long moment, before producing a black handkerchief from his cloak and wordlessly handing it to her. Hermione took it, wiped her nose, and blew.

"You may have just lost us the House Cup," Snape remarked, his voice neutral.

Hermione looked up rapidly.

"What? _How_ -?"

"You seem to inspire loyalty," Snape drawled. He gestured toward Ron, where Professor McGonagall was still dressing down a group of boys. "Some of your fellow Slytherins overheard Mister Weasley's remarks to you. They took exception to him saying such things about you."

Hermione wiped her eyes and peered over. To her surprise, Marcus Flint was there, along with Adrian Pucey and another boy she thought might be named Graham. They were glaring at Ron and two other Gryffindor boys who were with him – Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, Hermione recognized from her classes. The Gryffindor boys were glaring back defiantly, but the Slytherins… they looked murderous. And Seamus Finnegan very definitely looked like he had a broken nose.

"Professor McGonagall is taking points from everyone involved," Snape said. " _Including_ your valiant defenders."

Hermione sniffed. "I'm sorry, sir."

For some reason, the thought of losing the House Cup now, on top of everything else, sent her dissolving into tears again, and Hermione blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief, trying her best not to cry. Snape looked very uncomfortable. He patted her back twice, then shot a dark look over at the group who had fought.

"Mr. Weasley is a fool," Snape said darkly. "You belong here more than he does, Miss Granger. Your aptitude for magic is second to none. And you are the top student of your year." He looked down at her, his tone softening. "Do not let his words touch you, Miss Granger. You are worth far more _now_ than he will ever be worth."

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes with a clean corner. "…T-thank you, sir."

She offered him the handkerchief, but Snape declined.

"Drop it in with the laundry; the castle will see it returned to me," he told her. He looked at here, somewhat sharply. "You are well?"

It was more a command than an inquiry, but Hermione nodded all the same. Snape nodded back at her before striding off toward the castle, following the trickle of others back in.

"…well, it worked."

Hermione turned to see Daphne, Draco, Theo, and Blaise, all of whom had hung back, waiting. They moved forward now, encircling her. Daphne patted her back gently, but Blaise shamelessly wrapped her in a tight hug for a long moment, earning a glare from Draco, before he let her go.

"It worked?" Hermione repeated, looking at Daphne.

"It definitely did," Theo said. "McGonagall docked him twenty points for fighting, and another twenty points for 'unbecoming conduct'. Everyone heard her do it as they walked by."

"More than that," Draco said, his eyes glinting, "Snape assigned him detention."

Hermione paused. "…Detention? The year is over."

"Detention," Draco repeated, smirking, "…during the Leaving Feast."

They all gasped, and Blaise and Draco started snickering.

"I've never ever heard of that," Theo said, his own smirk spreading across his face. "How does that work?"

"He's got it with Filch," Draco said, as they all started ambling across the grass, the last ones to head back toward the castle. "Merlin only knows what gross thing Filch will have him doing – hopefully cleaning the toilets without a wand…"

"Are you okay?" Daphne asked her quietly, and Hermione was struck by the concern in her voice. When had things changed so much that Daphne cared about her welfare? "Weasley said some pretty harsh things…"

"A lot of what he said was true, actually," Hermione said, sighing. "I _am_ Slytherin. I _was_ happy Gryffindor lost. And I _did_ betray them, for this plan."

"You did no such thing," Draco said abruptly, turning. Hermione and Daphne both looked up at the sudden interruption – Hermione hadn't realized anyone else was listening.

"You did no such thing," Draco said again, fiercely. His eyes flashed. "Hermione, Weasley betrayed _you,_ first. Any friendship you once had, he threw away and repeatedly stomped on. And you've not betrayed Longbottom or Potter – you risked your _life_ , going with them to save them on their stupid quest."

Hermione nodded. "I- yes, but-"

"You only ever associate with Weasley if Potter and Longbottom are around, correct?" he continued. " _They_ are your friends, Hermione. Weasley is _not_. He has not _earned_ your friendship – and he has treated you poorly enough for us to mark him as your foe."

The others murmured their agreement as they entered the castle, leaving Hermione to quietly reflect on Draco's words.


	63. The House Cup

The leaving feast, Hermione reflected, had an unusual atmosphere about it. Part of it felt incredibly tense, while part of it felt joyous and celebratory.

The cause of the tense feeling was obvious. Despite all she'd done to help Slytherin towards the House Cup, somehow, Slytherin and Ravenclaw were _tied._ No one seemed to know what to do about this – no one had realized until they'd walked into the Great Hall and seen _both_ banners hanging, both houses' colors hanging on the walls, clashing with each other.

Jade was _furious_.

"This is all because of Malfoy's stupid nighttime excursions, the constant fighting in the halls, and Flint's abrupt fight club out there," she hissed, glaring at Flint. "I can't _believe_ you picked a fight _right in front of the teachers_."

Marcus Flint just grinned at her, his jaw still purpleing and bruised, and flipped her the bird.

"Wasn't my fault," he said. "Blame the Weasley snot. I'd do it again."

He shot Hermione a grin, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

The others, however, seemed more okay with this odd tie. The Ravenclaw house was exchanging teasing remarks with the Slytherins, which Hermione hadn't expected. The two House tables were next to each other, but it was funny to see the older students teasing each other. Hermione was surprised to see that Ravenclaw seemed _fine_ with the tie; she wondered if it was because Ravenclaw, in the end, didn't really care who won the House Cup. Unless it directly impacted their studies, Ravenclaws didn't seem to be fazed by much.

There was a sudden hush in the room, and then everybody started talking loudly. Hermione realized that Harry had entered the room, finally out of the Hospital wing, and a lot of people were standing up and trying to get a look at him. Hermione winced – that had to be awkward for him.

Hermione went over to the Gryffindor table, offering him a smile, which Harry gratefully returned. She picked up a roll, while Harry settled himself in.

"How bad is it?" Harry asked wryly, looking to Neville and Hermione. "Has the rumor mill gotten it right? Am I going to be accused of murdering our teacher flat-out?"

He gave them a half-hearted smile, trying for humor, but Hermione could hear the real worry behind his tone.

"They've got it mostly right," Hermione said, considering. "The main points are all there – Quirrell was host to Lord Voldemort, went after Dumbledore's treasure in an attempt to return himself to life, and you risked your life and stopped him yourself. Everyone knows Quirrell's dead, and I think most people know that Lord Voldemort escaped as a shade, too."

The unusual accuracy of the rumor mill was largely due to Hermione's public factual recounting of the adventure in the Slytherin common room. The Slytherins would have hid their source, but they would have spread the story to their friends in other houses, who in turn would have passed it on.

"People aren't talking about that as much, now," Neville said darkly. "Everyone's talking about Ron."

Hermione winced, and Harry looked puzzled.

"Ron?" Harry asked. He looked around, craning his head. "Where _is_ Ron?"

"He's not here," Hermione said quickly. "He, um, got detention, so he's cleaning out the classrooms with Filch…"

" _Detention?_ " Harry said incredulously. "For the _leaving feast?_ "

"What Hermione isn't saying," Neville said, giving Hermione a pointed look, "is Ron got detention for screaming at her after the Quidditch game."

 _"What?"_

Hermione winced, but Neville went into it, recounting everything Ron had said, every name he'd called her and every insult he'd thrown her way. Neville's voice got heated and vehement as he continued, his eyes hard.

"-and then he accused her of being a fake friend who would betray us, putting you in the Hospital wing on purpose, and said she didn't belong at Hogwarts and she might as well leave!"

Hermione's chest was tight. She was looking at the table, gradually shredding the roll in her hands into little tiny pieces as she blinked rapidly. She wasn't sure why – it wasn't like she was going to be able to eat any of the wisps of bread she pulled free. It was just… hearing everything Ron said _again_ … but this time, her Slytherin friends across the room…

 _"Hermione."_

Harry's voice was commanding, and Hermione instinctively jerked her head up, her gaze meeting Harry's. His green eyes were hard, alight, and he looked angry. Hermione had to fight the urge to flinch backwards.

"Hermione, you and Neville are my _best friends_ ," he said fiercely. "Ron is a friend too, but he might not even be _that_ anymore – not after saying that sort of thing to you. That is _not_ okay."

Hermione bit her lip hard, trying to hold back any sort of emotional outburst. She felt like she wanted to burst into tears.

Harry, perceptive as he was, saw through it immediately.

"Come here," he said, and Hermione flew around the table to give him a proper hug, which Harry returned. They both lingered, longer than a usual hug, but Hermione needed the reassurance – both the physical reassurance that _Harry was okay,_ that he was out of the Hospital Wing, as well as the emotional reassurance that he was her friend, that he still liked her, that he wasn't going to throw her away. Harry didn't seem to mind; he tried to pat and stroke her back, but ended up kind of drumming on her ribs, and Hermione was laughing when she pulled back. Harry looked embarrassed but happy.

"I don't have much experience comforting upset girls," he told her, and Hermione laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you made the effort to try," she replied, and Harry shot her a grin.

There was a sudden hush in the hall, before murmurs broke out, and Hermione looked up, seeing that Dumbledore had just arrived.

"I better go!" she whispered, and she darted across the hall to retake her seat amongst the Slytherins.

"Potter okay?" Draco drawled, raising a judgmental eyebrow.

Hermione ignored his tone.

"Yes. He's furious about what Weasley did on the Quidditch pitch," she remarked, her tone casual. "Might not even be his friend after today."

Draco's face broke into a satisfied smirk, and Hermione ignored him to settle her robes around her and turn to face the head table with the others, where Dumbledore had clapped his hands loudly to get everyone's attention.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we finish this feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…"

Hermione made a face, and she rolled her eyes at Theo, who rolled his eyes back at her. What was the point of learning everything if you just forgot it all?

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; and Ravenclaw and Slytherin both tied in the lead, at four hundred sixty-two."

There was a murmur as everyone looked around. A tie had never been heard of.

"Yes, yes, well done everyone," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. Hermione blinked. The term was over – what was left to award points for?

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…"

"First – to Mr. Neville Longbottom…"

There was a loud gasp, and Neville, trembling, stood up at the Gryffindor table. There was a murmur through the crowd.

"…for staying to help his friends out of a tangled situation, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

The Gryffindors started cheering. Fifty points! Such numbers were rarely heard of – Hermione had only managed it once early in the term by _breaking Dumbledore's Transfiguration record._ And Neville had earned fifty in one go! And _tangled situation_ – that could only refer to Neville's aptitude with the Devil's Snare.

At last there was silence again.

"Second – to Mr. Ronald Weasley… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

The Gryffindors were losing themselves, bouncing in their seats – they were suddenly a hundred points up. Hermione felt an abrupt sinking sensation in her stomach as she realized what was about to happen. Hermione craned her neck, trying to catch Snape's eye, but he was too busy glaring at McGonagall.

"Third – to Mr. Harry Potter…"

The room went deadly quiet, and Hermione felt a hot anger spark inside of her. If Dumbledore was going to do this nonsense, he should do it _right._

"…for pure nerve and outstanding courage…"

Hermione swore, reached inside of her, and whispered, _"Ventus."_

"…I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling now knew that Gryffindor was in the lead – exactly ten points over Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The Ravenclaws, who certainly _could_ add, looked insulted that _Gryffindor_ was about to win over them, while the Slytherins looked mutinous.

Hermione twitched her wand, and the gust of wind circled Snape's head, mussing his hair. Snape's head turned rapidly, looking for the culprit, and she kept the spell up until his eyes landed on hers.

She pointed to herself, gesturing frantically, and Snape's eyes widened.

"And if my addition serves me right—" Dumbledore said loudly, over the cheers. The Gryffindors, however, refused to quiet down, and Hermione watched as Snape quietly moved to behind Dumbledore, whispering something in his ear, and Dumbledore stopped, as if frozen in place.

Very slowly, Dumbledore turned his blue eyes to her.

Hermione was not sure that Dumbledore had ever really _seen_ her before, but he was looking at her now. He was looking at her with the look of someone who had almost solved a puzzle, all save one last piece that refused to just quite fit in. He kept glancing from Harry to her, from her to Harry, up to the banners hanging over each house. His blue eyes were piercing, almost accusing, and Hermione felt a rush of comprehension.

 _Dumbledore didn't know she was in Slytherin_.

It was an abrupt realization. But as soon as she thought it, she had rationalized it. Of _course_ he wouldn't know she was in Slytherin – why _would_ he? She was one of any number of Slytherins, and he couldn't keep track of all the students in his school. She'd never gotten in trouble, so she'd never been sent to his office (if Hogwarts even worked like that), and she was only a lowly first year. She doubted the Headmaster even knew who she _was_. Still…

Her mind flickered back over the past year. Although she'd studied with the Ravenclaws, in public, she was often alongside Harry, Ron, and Neville, sometimes even in the Gryffindor common room with them. If the Headmaster had only been paying attention to Harry… had he just assumed her to be some sort of sidekick to Harry's hero?

Dumbledore was looking back at Snape with a sharp look, and Snape was giving Dumbledore an oily smile in return. Hermione's heart had stopped beating. Had Dumbledore trapped himself into doing what Hermione thought he was about to do?

Dumbledore held up a hand, and the hall fell quiet once more.

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies," Dumbledore said, smiling. But Hermione could see through it now - his smile was just a bit pinched, the sparkle in his eyes gone. "But it can be even harder to keep a calm head. For the use of cool logic in the face of fire… I award fifty points to Miss Hermione Granger."

The change was _dramatic._

The yells and moans of loud objections of the Gryffindors were drowned out by the cheers and screams of triumph of the Slytherins. Gone was the carefully-cultivated pureblood sense of decorum – students were banging on the table with their goblets and stamping their feet. Hermione had a moment to see that the Ravenclaws were cheering too, many of them grinning at Hermione specifically, before she was nearly tackled by Jade, who had thrown her arms around her.

"We _won-!_ "

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the din, "we need a change of decoration."

He clapped his hands, and in an instant the Ravenclaw hangings vanished, and huge Slytherin serpents now decorated the room, the hall clad in silver and green. Professor McGonagall was glaring at Snape, who was giving her an oily smile, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"I was determined to have Slytherin win the House Cup all seven years of my education here," Jade told Hermione seriously, hugging her again. "And we almost _lost_ it! You _saved_ us-! You saved our _legacy!_ "

Hermione thought that Jade was going a bit overboard, but her classmates were still cheering and whistling, and even Theo was grinning – Theo, who rarely grinned. Draco was banging his cup, and Blaise was whistling, and all the girls were still yelling and hugging each other in celebration.

Still, though…

The look Dumbledore had given her, like he'd suddenly _seen_ her, gave Hermione an uneasy feeling the rest of the feast.


	64. Exam Results

**A/N:** I wanted to thank you all for you reading. Thank you for reading this year. Thank you for reading, thank you for your reviews, thank you for your comments. I read each and every one (and respond to those where people ask direct outright questions), and it makes me happy to know that so many people are enjoying the story. They say "write the story you want to read," and I'm glad that so many other people want to read mine. :)

* * *

Exam results arrived the next morning, envelopes magically appearing on their nightstands during the night, and Hermione was flush with pleasure to see how spectacularly she'd done. Not only had she gotten a perfect or better in each subject, but in many of them, she'd managed extra credit as well, and best of all, their exam sheets were ranked, and she was at the top of the class.

Not that that was saying much when your class only had around fifty students, but still. She'd beaten out all the Ravenclaws – Terry Boot was bound to have something to say to her about that.

At breakfast, the Slytherins were carefully discussing their results without making any reference to how well they'd actually done, feeling each other out, waiting to see who would crack first and directly state how well they did. Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored their discussion to look over at the Gryffindors. Harry looked okay, and Neville had a look of surprised pleasure on his face, which made Hermione smile. She smirked at Ron's visibly red face as the twins teased him. He probably hadn't done as well as he'd thought he'd do.

Wanting to _actually_ discuss exam grades, Hermione got up while people were looking over at Draco and slipped over to the Ravenclaw table, where Terry Boot was loudly proclaiming the bias of the Transfiguration exam.

"How pretty something is is _entirely_ subjective," he was complaining. "I shouldn't get points off simply because McGonagall didn't appreciate my sense of style."

"She didn't," Hermione said, sliding in next to Mandy Brocklehurst. "She gave extra credit for style. She didn't deduct if it _wasn't_ stylish."

Anthony shot her a grin. "'Morning, Hermione."

Hermione gave him a smile, while Terry frowned over his results, muttering.

"Then where did I get a point off…?"

"Did your lid come off?" Mandy suggested. "Mine almost didn't."

"Yes, yes, the box was all fine…" Terry said, frowning. "I swear, it must have been from the style."

"What style did you choose?" Hermione asked.

Terry drew himself up.

"It was a very modern and stark design," he told her, his voice haughty, "to mimic the disaster snuff can cause to one's health. It was a very cold metal, with creepy shadows etched into the lid, and bars coming down the sides to mimic a jail cell-"

"Bars?" Hermione repeated. "Like, little cutouts?"

"Yes," Terry said, nodding. "And then, there were-"

"That's your problem there, mate," Anthony said, shooting Hermione a conspiring look. "If you had cutouts, the snuff would have blown out of the box."

Terry gave Anthony a dark look. "It was a _style._ It was artistic license."

"Professor McGonagall took points off for my lid not coming off," Mandy said, frowning. "She definitely would have deducted points for the box being impractical or unusable. That's got to be where you lost it."

"Still," Terry said, folding his arms and pouting. "To slip so far down from one point lost!"

"Oh, shut up," Mandy said, exasperated. "You'd think you'd lost an aunt, you're so upset. We're all still in the top ten of the class – we're all fine."

"Where are you all?" Hermione asked. Terry sighed and slumped down onto the table, while Anthony rolled his eyes.

"I'm in fifth," Anthony said, shrugging. "Terry got fourth. Mandy ranked seventh. Michael's not even come down for breakfast yet." Anthony winced. "He's still hiding his face – he only got ninth."

Hermione goggled at them for a moment.

"… _none_ of you got the top three?" she said.

Terry glared at her. "You don't have to rub it in."

But Hermione was already on her feet, looking around the Great Hall, scanning. In Gryffindor… no, she knew the first year Gryffindors, and there was no way they'd gotten into the top ten. In Hufflepuff… Ernie Macmillan was good at written, but pants at the practical aspects of magic, and he couldn't have beaten Terry and Anthony…

Her eyes fell on the Slytherin table, and she started to smile.

"We got them," she said quietly. "We got all three."

"What?" Terry growled. " _Slytherins_ beat out _Ravenclaw_ for the top three?"

"I-"

Terry was already storming over to the first years at the Slytherin table. Hermione hurried after him, and Anthony look like he was trying to stifle his laughter, but he quickly followed.

"You snakes beat us out for the top three spots?" Terry demanded, glaring at everyone. " _How?_ "

Hermione's housemates all slowly turned to give Terry a look, and it was almost as if they'd practiced – it was the same slightly sneering, dismissive look on all their faces. Hermione took the opportunity to slide back into her seat at the Slytherin table, next to Tracey, not bothering to hide her grin. Tracey smirked back at her.

"We're the house of ambition," Draco sneered at Terry. "Does it surprise you that great things come from us?"

"Who ranked what?" Terry demanded. "Who beat me?"

Theo raised an eyebrow. "We're not so crass as to discuss numbers-"

"Oh, shut up, Nott," Blaise interrupted. He looked at Theo with a grin. "I got sixth. You'll have to find your culprit elsewhere."

Draco groaned. "Blaise, you do _not_ just _share_ your exam results with the Ravenclaws…"

"I got third," Theo said suddenly. He gave Terry an evaluating look. "I figured one of you eagles took second. You're saying all the top three are in Slytherin?"

Draco squirmed, though he was trying to hide it. Hermione blinked, tilting her head. Something wasn't adding up.

"One of you had to," Terry said, scowling. "You snakes-"

"Ravenclaw had fourth, fifth, seventh, and ninth in the class," Anthony interrupted, giving Terry a warning look. "There's no one at Gryffindor or Hufflepuff to provide a challenge, so…"

"So who got second?" Terry demanded, glaring across the table.

A handful of the Slytherins were squirming slightly, before finally, Draco, with an exasperated, put-upon sigh, raised his hand.

Theo gasped.

"I got second," Draco said, haughty superiority in his tone. But he couldn't fool Hermione – she'd shared classes and a common room with him for a year. Draco was _upset_ , she could tell, but he was hiding it well.

Theo, however, completely decomposed.

"You got _second?_ " he demanded of Draco. "If you got _second_ , who got first?"

"Hermione," Anthony said simply.

The Slytherins all swiveled to look at her, their eyes wide, accusing. Hermione did her best to ignore them, instead looking up at Anthony.

"How did you know?" she asked. "You didn't even ask."

Anthony gave her a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling. "I didn't need to. Was there ever a chance it would be somebody else?"

Hermione felt her own lips tug into a smile in response, and Anthony's grin widened.

" _Granger?_ " A familiar voice screeched, and with a sigh, Hermione turned to look at Pansy.

"Yes…?" Hermione said, her voice sounding very put-upon. Pansy ignored her.

"We're supposed to believe _Granger_ got the top spot?" Pansy said sharply. " _Granger_ did? She couldn't have – she's a Mud-"

Draco elbowed Pansy sharply, and Pansy yelped.

"-I mean, she's Muggle-born-"

"Oh, right," Anthony said, sniffing dismissively. "You lot all think that still matters."

"Is that it?" Terry demanded, and his voice was hard. "You all didn't think Hermione could come in top because she's got Muggles for parents?"

Hermione could see their faces as well as Terry could, a cold feeling growing in her chest-

 _"No,_ " Draco said emphatically, cutting Terry off. He glared at him. "That's got nothing to do with it at all."

"Oh? That what _does_ it have to-"

"Draco's been going on all year about his plans to be in the top of the class," Theo said. He glanced at Draco, who flushed slightly. Theo looked back to Terry. "I'm _surprised_ that Hermione beat him. I expected her to be in the top ten, but I didn't realize she was _that_ good."

Theo gave her a wry smile, apologetic, and Hermione found herself surprisedly offering him a small smile back.

" _I_ was surprised."

Hermione looked to see Pansy standing, folding her arms and glaring from Hermione to the Ravenclaws.

Blaise groaned. "Pans, it's not like you would have stood a chance at the top anyway. Sit down before you embarrass yourself…"

"I _am_ ," Pansy sneered. "What with her heritage… and her _blood_ …"

"Like you're one to talk about blood," Millie murmured, and Pansy's face flushed an unattractive mottled color.

"You're a fool," Terry pronounced disgustedly. "And Hermione's New Blood, anyway – did you really think any of you stood a chance?" Terry offered Hermione a small smile in recognition, which Hermione returned.

"Or so she _claims_ ," snarled Pansy, and Terry whirled around on her.

"Have you ever actually _seen_ her cast magic?" His voice was sharp, and Hermione felt touched, that her Ravenclaw friends would come to her defense like this. "It's incredible. She can analyze and dissect spells without a thought. Magic _speaks_ to her. You can't _fake_ that."

Pansy glared at them all, and with a huff, stormed off towards the Slytherin dungeons. The table fell quiet as they watched her go.

Anthony laid a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Do you want to come finish eating with us?" he asked quietly.

Hermione considered, but she wasn't going to let Pansy's remarks get to her – not now, on the day of her triumph.

"Thank you, but I'm fine here," she said. "I just came over to see how you'd all done."

Anthony nodded at her, understanding, before squeezing her shoulder as he turned and left. Terry gave them all a disgusted look before turning away and leaving too.

Very aware of her classmates' eyes on her, Hermione, very composedly, served herself some eggs. There was a small silence as they all returned to their plates.

"So," Theo said, breaking the silence. "First. Top of the year."

"Yes," Hermione said.

"That's quite the accomplishment, Granger," he said, his eyes glittering.

"Yes, it is," Hermione said. She tilted her chin up slightly, looking down her nose at him. "I'm aware."

"Your parents are going to be so proud of you," he said, a grin on his face, "taking first in the year."

Hermione blinked.

 _Her parents…?_ Was that a slight?

But Theo's tone didn't seem cruel.

"They are going to be _so_ proud of you," Theo continued on, his grin getting wider. "In fact, they might even offer to buy you-"

"Shut _up_ , Nott," Draco snapped, shoving him hard. Theo went crashing into Daphne and toppling off the bench. Theo hauled himself back up, laughing, and there were two spots of color high on Draco's cheeks as Draco turned to Hermione. He shifted over on the bench across the table, until he was sitting directly in front of Hermione, and he leaned forward to talk to her.

"My parents have let me know I'm expected to get first in my year every year since I was old enough to know about Hogwarts," Draco told her, careful to keep his tone quiet. His tone was almost apologetic. "I was shocked to see I'd come in second. I'd studied so hard, and even gotten extra credit in a couple classes – and someone had gotten even _more_ than me?"

"So it wasn't the fact that it was _me_ that beat you?" Hermione clarified. "It was just the fact that you were beaten at all?"

Draco grimaced, but he followed it with a ghost of a smile.

"I was just too blinded by my pride to get over the fact I was in second," he admitted. "If I'd bothered to think about it at all, I would have known in a moment – of course it'd be you."

"Of course?" Hermione's tone was almost playful. "Not Theo? Not Terry? They didn't stand a chance, in your mind?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile touched his lips again.

"Of course it'd be you," he said again, more quietly. He looked back up to her. And his silver eyes held hers captive. "It's always you."

Hermione felt something catch in her throat as she looked back at Draco, no one saying a word, just a quiet, trapped silence between them amidst the din of the breakfast hall.

"Well, _I_ got eighth!"

The moment was abruptly broken by Tracey glomming onto Hermione with an excited squeal. Hermione turned to her, surprise, and Tracey's eyes were sparkling with excitement.

"I got eighth!" she said, her excitement was undeniable. "Hermione, I've _never_ been good at school work, and I got _eighth_ in the class!"

Hermione suppressed her first reaction – if _she_ had ever gotten eighth, she'd have been _appalled_ – and gave her a soft grin.

"That's great, Tracey," she told her. "Will your parents be proud?"

"They won't be able to believe it," Tracey answered, giggling slightly. "Me, doing well in school! And it's all because of you!"

Tracey gave Hermione a hug, right there on the bench, and to Hermione's surprise. She hugged her back, a soft smile coming onto her face.

"I'm sure I played less of a role than you think," Hermione said. "You studied hard."

"Oh, bollocks," Tracey said, rolling her eyes, and Hermione's eyes widened at her language. "It was your little secret study group, and you know it. Blaise got sixth, I got eighth, and Millie even managed tenth. _Millie!_ "

"That's rude," Hermione said sharply, at Tracey's tone, but Tracey rolled her eyes.

"You _know_ Millie has trouble studying," Tracey said. "She's never been good at book learning – she's always just planned on breeding kneazles after Hogwarts. _She_ was surprised by it, too."

"Was she surprised that I came in first, too?" Hermione said. Her voice sounded odd – it'd suddenly gone very quiet, not unlike Snape's when he was mad.

"Don't be ridiculous." Tracey gave Hermione a look, and Hermione's heart warmed a little bit. "Anyone who's studied with you wouldn't doubt you coming in first for a moment," she said loudly. "You're brilliant, Hermione."

Hermione flushed and turned away from Tracey, only to catch Blaise giving her a wink, which made her blush all the more.

"So then," Theo said, calculating. "Slytherin got tenth, eighth, sixth, third, second, and first. That's more than half the top spots!"

"Ravenclaw took the other four," Hermione told him.

"That's great, for Slytherin," Theo said. "It puts us in a lead over the other houses."

Millie snorted. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," she said. "Vince and Greg have got to have dragged the average down."

They all glanced down the table and Vince and Greg, who were practicing balancing muffins on top of their forks. They all quickly looked back.

"Still," Theo said. "We have most of the top spots. I think that's pretty great."

"It is," Hermione agreed.

"And props to Granger," Draco said, his eyes gleaming. He raised his glass toward her, as if giving a toast. "To the New Blood showing the rest of us purebloods how it's done. Cheers."

Hermione froze in her seat, her eyes going wide. Draco had never called her a New Blood before.

"Cheers," Blaise agreed, picking up his goblet and shooting Hermione a cheeky smirk.

"Congratulations," Theo said, smirking. "Well done Hermione."

"To Hermione!" Tracey said, jumping in.

"To Hermione," Daphne agreed, picking up her cup as well.

Hermione watched as one by one, all her classmates of her house picked up their goblets and looked at her. Millie had to snap at Vince and Greg to get their attention, but they lifted their goblets as well.

"To Hermione, for leading our den of vipers to snake-y success," Blaise said, grinning.

"May she continue to do so," Theo added, "as we crush the other houses."

"To Hermione," Draco echoed. "Congratulations."

To Hermione's immense surprise, he passed his cup to the right and took Theo's cup from his left and drank deeply, and the others followed suit, each taking a cup from someone else and drinking. Hermione followed their movements automatically, fighting to not make a face as she got someone's over-sweetened tea.

Afterwards, there was a brief scuffle as cups were traded back, and breakfast resumed, but with a lighter, celebratory air amongst the Slytherins as they enjoyed their last meal at Hogwarts for the year. Hermione made a note to look up pureblood traditions regarding toasts later, but it was hard to even worry about not knowing something.

Her classmates had just toasted her for coming in first in the year. They'd publicly declared her the academic leader for their year, and openly toasted to her success.

Hermione couldn't stop beaming as she finished her eggs.

If that didn't feel like acceptance, she didn't know what would.


	65. The Journey Home

Packing after breakfast was a noisy affair, with cries of "where did I put it?" and "has anyone seen my hairbrush?" around the room as the girls searched for all their things. Hermione had largely kept her things together, so packing wasn't difficult – just a matter of putting her things away that she'd taken out.

"You never did say what those were," Tracey said, as Hermione stood on her bed and carefully took down the stone crowns she'd put there.

"They're crowns," Hermione said, and Tracey laughed.

"Yes, but where did you _get_ them?"

Hermione grinned. "Off stone kings."

Packing took little time; what took _more_ time was Hermione slightly panicking and trying to figure out how best to take the _second_ trunk she'd ended up with along with her to the platform. Everyone else had _one_ trunk, and Hermione had only had one trunk for _most_ of the year...

In the end, she put a Muggle lock on it and another luggage tag that clearly read "Hermione's Books – Property of Hermione Granger" and set it next to her normal trunk, labeled "Hermione Granger". Sometimes hiding out in the open was the better option, Hermione thought, biting her lip as she straightened up her bed. It wasn't like she'd be able to sneak a heavy trunk like that onto the train unseen.

Notes were handed out to all students as they left the castle, warning them all not to do magic over the summer, which made Hermione smirk. They were herded into boats, and then Hagrid was sailing them across the lake, and they were boarding the Hogwarts Express, the students talking and laughing as they piled in.

Hermione used subtle levitation charms on her trunks to help get them inside. With all the chaos, no one would know who was doing what, and they'd probably look the other way, regardless.

Hermione settled into a compartment with Tracey, Millie, and Blaise. They played Exploding Snap for a while before Tracey and Millie left to go find Daphne. Blaise was flipping through a book quietly, and Hermione watched the landscape pass by through the window, sinking into her thoughts.

"What're you thinking about?"

Hermione looked up, and Blaise was looking straight at her. He quirked an eyebrow, and Hermione laughed.

"I was-" she started. "Umm-"

"I can see you're scrambling for a lie," Blaise teased. "Don't, Hermione. Just tell me the truth."

His eyes were open and honest, and Hermione bit her lip, feeling a twinge in her heart. Revealing her thoughts would be revealing a weakness, and even with her friends, being vulnerable, especially to another Slytherin, had become hard. Blaise's eyes were unguarded, though, and Hermione sighed.

"I was trying to figure out what was going on with the toast this morning," Hermione admitted.

Blaise gave her a quizzical look.

"Everyone was celebrating you," he told her. "We were proud of you. I thought you'd be pleased."

"I was," Hermione said quickly. "No, I am. It was- it actually meant a lot- but at the toast, everyone started swapping cups-"

Comprehension dawned on Blaise's face.

"And Muggles don't swap cups," he guessed.

"They don't," Hermione confirmed. "They just clink glasses or cups with other people's after the toast, but before they drink. I've never seen people trade cups."

"I doubt that Muggles have much of a _need_ to swap cups," Blaise said, giving her a twisted, wry grin. "Not unless poison is as common in the Muggle world as it is in the wizarding one."

"Oh!" Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes growing large. "So the cup trading is-"

"If you were planning on poisoning a person, can you imagine a better way to ensure they drink the poison than making a toast?" Blaise asked. "Even if you _knew_ your cup was poisoned, you'd be practically socially shamed into suicide. You can't just _refuse_ a toast. So everybody started swapping glasses."

"So people can't poison each other, because they'd end up poisoning someone random instead?" Hermione guessed.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, people still poison each other," Blaise said, smirking. "But now it's more at private dinners or in secret. There's no poisonings at large, public functions anymore – with the toast glass-swapping, it becomes too dangerous."

"Were there really that many deaths that this became a social convention?" Hermione asked, astonished.

"If you could triumph over your enemy in private, or in a grand, dramatic, and public fashion, which would you choose?" Blaise shot back, and Hermione's mind flashed back to Herbology class: Pansy, tears in her eyes, bleeding in front of everyone, and the terror in her eyes as Hermione whispered a rumor about her blood.

"In public," Hermione said reluctantly, and Blaise grinned at her.

"See?" he said. "We're all the same. So in order to stop the poisonings, wizards started trading cups. This was centuries ago, mind. Not many people now know where the tradition came from, I'd bet."

"But you do?" Hermione asked.

There was a pause, and Blaise gave her a long, measuring look.

"Yeah," he said finally. "My mum taught me."

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, confusion in her eyes. Blaise sighed and looked out the window.

"All I know about your mother is that she's famously beautiful," Hermione ventured. "Daphne has referred to her as 'the epitome of class' and 'the pinnacle of beauty'. And Tracey said she flirts a lot."

Blaise snickered despite himself.

"That's not exactly inaccurate," he said. He gave Hermione an amused look, before his smile subsided.

"My mum," he said finally, "has had seven husbands."

"Seven?" Hermione's eyes grew wide. "That's-"

Her mind caught up with her, reminding her of the context of the conversation, and Hermione cut herself off, giving Blaise an evaluating look.

"I was going to say 'I didn't know polygamy was legal in the wizarding world' before I realized," Hermione said dryly, and Blaise stifled a snort of laughter. Hermione watched him laugh, waiting for his eyes to meet hers again.

"That sort of thing happens in the Muggle world, too," she said, careful to keep her tone even, non-judgemental. "They even have a term for it – a Black Widow. Like the spider."

Blaise looked surprised, then thoughtful.

"A black widow…?" He considered, then snorted. "That… fits rather well, actually."

Hermione just watched him, and Blaise met her eyes again.

"There's a lot of rumors around my mother," Blaise said finally. "That she's cursed, that she did something to her husbands, that other potential lovers arranged 'accidents' for their rivals…"

And Blaise had just mentioned that his mother taught him about the semi-obscure history of an old ritual, with its history steeped in poisoning.

"I understand," Hermione said. She reached over, laying a hand on his for a moment, looking up at him. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

Blaise looked surprised, but then his eyes softened.

"I do," he said, his lips quirked. "I'm not totally sure when that happened, but I _do_ trust you."

Hermione smiled back.

"That's not a bad thing," she teased. "You have to trust _someone."_

"You take that back," Blaise said immediately. "I do _not._ I am not some weak Hufflepuff."

Hermione started laughing, before drawing herself up and trying to appear snobbish.

"Everyone needs at least one person to confide in," Hermione informed him, raising her chin. "You should listen to me – _I_ clearly know best. I'm the top of the class."

They looked at each other for a long moment, both holding snobby looks, before they both started laughing.

"I'm still so glad I got the top," Hermione said, when their laughter had subsided. "I didn't realize at the time, but I really feel like I _proved_ myself to everyone, now. They were so surprised…"

"I knew you'd be the top of the year, Hermione," Blaise told her. "I never doubted it for a second. You're the best witch we've got."

Hermione felt her heart warm at the kindness and honesty in his voice. Blaise's eyes softened as he looked at her, before getting a playful spark in them.

"You're the best-looking girl in our year, too," he continued, his eyes teasing. "Definitely. You'd come in top for that, too."

Hermione snorted.

"You should have stopped when you were ahead," she said, throwing a cushion at him. "I'll take smartest – Lavender Brown can _keep_ best looking, and we'll see which one of us gets further in life."

"Lavender Brown is a primping cow," Blaise dismissed, throwing the cushion back at her. "You're the one with the smile that makes men weak at the knees and the eyes that capture the lights of fairies."

"Stop!" Hermione laughed. "You're ridiculous."

Blaise stopped, as requested, but his eyes gleamed still, making Hermione smirk and roll her eyes as he raked his eyes over her very suggestively, obviously trying to flirt with her further without saying anything more. But Hermione just smiled. For all his ridiculousness, Blaise really was a good friend.

A good friend…

Abruptly, Hermione stood up.

"Going somewhere?" Blaise asked.

Hermione nodded. "I forgot about something. Just have an errand to run."

It wasn't hard to find Harry Potter's compartment; she followed the whispers and the students who paused to stare inside. Harry's adventure with Quirrell was still hot gossip. Rolling her eyes, she knocked briefly before stepping inside.

Harry, Neville, and Ron were in the compartment. Ron was sprawled over one of the seats, snoring with a magazine over his face, while Harry and Neville were both on the other seat, opening chocolate frogs. They froze when she opened the door, but both of them relaxed when they saw it was her.

"I'd ask to take a seat," Hermione said wryly, "but you appear to have run out of them."

Neville blushed and Harry grinned. Hermione tilted her head.

"Harry, can I see you in the corridor?" she said. "I have something for you."

Curious, Harry looked to Neville, who shrugged and nodded, before standing and joining her.

Once in the corridor, Hermione carefully checked both ways before withdrawing Harry's invisibility cloak from her robes. Harry's eyes went wide.

"I had wondered where this went!" he said. "I was worried it'd been lost in the corridor."

Hermione smiled. "I wouldn't have let that happen," she assured him. "Here."

She helped him bundle it under his own robes, in case someone else came by. It made Harry look vaguely pregnant or unusually fat, but it was the best she could do without practically accosting Harry.

"I have something else for you," she told him, handing him a slip of paper. Harry took it and scanned it

"This is… your phone number?" he said. "And your address?"

Hermione offered him a soft smile.

"I remember you saying how wretched your relatives are," she said. "If you ever want to come over, or just want to talk to someone who _knows_ … well. Now you know how to find me."

Harry grinned at her, before rummaging at his pockets.

"Hang on – here." He scrawled his own number on a slip of parchment, giving it to her. "The Dursleys probably won't let me use the phone, but if a call comes in for me, they might let me take it." He paused. "I could give it to Ron and Neville, too, but they might not know how to use a phone."

"I'd recommend against it," she told him seriously. "Just stick to owls with them. Less chance of them angering your family, that way."

Harry nodded, before giving her a big hug, sweeping her off her feet.

"Harry-!"

She laughed, hitting Harry before he put her down. He grinned at her, his green eyes sparkling.

"I never thanked you, Hermione," he told her. His gaze grew serious. "You saved my life, down there in the corridor. You saved us all. Thank you."

His gaze was so honest, so forthright, that Hermione felt herself squirming.

"It was nothing, Harry," she told him honestly. "You're one of my best friends. I couldn't let anything happen to you."

Harry smiled at her, and Hermione smiled back, before giving him another hug.

"Tell Neville good-bye for me in case I don't see him on the platform," Hermione told Harry. "I don't fancy his chance to get past all that candy without knocking it all over the place."

Harry laughed and nodded, wishing her a happy summer before disappearing back into his compartment. Smiling to herself, a job well done, Hermione made her way back down the hall to her own compartment.

The rest of the trip went by in a bit of a blur, and before she knew it, they were pulling into King's Cross Station. A conductor let them through the platform in two's and three's, to not startle the Muggles, and as soon as Hermione was through, she was eagerly scanning the crowd.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see her mother and father waving, making their way through the crowd. Her eyes suddenly wet, Hermione threw herself at her parents.

"I missed you so much," Hermione gasped, hugging them both tightly. "You have no idea."

"Oh, I think we have some idea," her mother murmured, stroking her back. "It was probably somewhere in the realm of how much we were missing you."

"So how were your exams?" her father asked, lifting Hermione's trunks onto a trolley. "Did you do well?"

"Best in the class," Hermione admitted, and her parents beamed at her.

"That's my little girl!" her father laughed, clapping her on the back. "No matter what type of school you go to, you always come out on top."

"Are you ready to go, dear?" her mother asked, and Hermione nodded.

"I have so much to tell you," she told them. "Wait until you hear about what all happened at school…"


	66. The Start of Hermione's Summer (BOOK 2)

**A/N: Hello! This chapter begins the 2nd year (Chamber of Secrets) for Hermione. This is a good place to pause and take a break. Do you need some water? Do you need to go to the bathroom? Is it 3am and you've been reading for hours and desperately need to go to sleep?**

 **This is the place in the story to take a break and come back once you've refreshed yourself. We'll still be here waiting for you :)**

* * *

Hermione's parents were incredibly pleased with her marks. Hermione hadn't anticipated their amusement with the story of the obstacle course.

"Wait, the fall was _how_ long?" her father asked, grinning. "Did you use the 50 feet of rope?"

"The dog just _fell asleep?_ " her mother repeated. "Just like in the myth?"

Hermione resisted the urge to stomp her foot. "Will you _please_ just let me finish telling it?"

Her parents fell silent, but Hermione could tell it wouldn't last.

" _Yes_ , the Cerberus just fell asleep. It was easy," Hermione continued. "And the drop was… I don't know how long. _Really_ long. I used the 50 feet of rope, but it wasn't long enough. I had to climb back up it. It was exhausting."

"I feel like that should be against the rules," Hermione's father said. "Needing more than 50 feet of rope…"

" _Actual_ dungeon exploring isn't the same as make-believe, darling," her mother pointed out, elbowing him. "Let Hermione tell her story."

Hermione loved her mother dearly.

"I had to go and get a retractable rope from the groundskeeper to use," she told them. "At the bottom of the pit was this layer of plants that try to strangle people."

"That sounds… dangerous," her mother said carefully.

"Well, if you don't know what you're doing," Hermione agreed. "I _did_ know what I was doing, and I was able to make them curl away with a simple fire spell."

Hermione's mother looked cautiously approving. Her father looked proud.

"The next room after that had all these little flying keys and brooms, and the lock was resistant to magic. You were supposed to catch the key needed to unlock the door."

"I thought you didn't like flying," Hermione's mother said quizzically. "You managed to get past that?"

"In a fashion," Hermione admitted. "I used the lock picks dad gave me to get through."

Her father laughed uproariously.

"See? _See?_ " he told his wife, elbowing her with a wide grin. "As if I could steer her wrong."

"I didn't doubt you." Hermione's mother sniffed primly. "I just thought you got a little over-excited, when Hermione wrote home asking for rope and things to help her explore a dungeon."

"I did not! I knew _exactly_ what she would need-"

"After the flying key room," Hermione continued loudly, "there was a room with giant chess pieces. I had to play my way across and beat the white pieces to get through."

Her parents fell silent at that, exchanging a long look with each other before looking back at her.

"And… how did that go?" her mother asked.

Slytherin had changed her ability to pick up on nuances, Hermione realized. Before, she'd had classified her mother's tone as "curious". Now, though, it sounded more "carefully neutral".

"Not well," Hermione said, grimacing. "I had to go back at that – I knew better than to try. I ended up having a boy from my classes help me."

"You took an accomplice back with you?" her father said, nodding. "Smart. More members in the party."

"No," Hermione said, pushing aside her father's odd words. "He volunteered to help teach me when he saw me reading a chess strategy book. When he deemed me hopeless, he sent me a miniature chess set that was connected to one he had. He thought I was playing Ron. I just echoed the moves the giant chess set made onto the small set, and when he made a move, I echoed it with my pieces on the giant board."

"Smart," her father said, approving. "Much smarter than playing yourself."

"Isn't Ron the boy who was being so mean to you?" her mother said with a frown. "Why would you be playing him?"

"To beat him," Hermione said, sighing. "Anyway, it was a lie. The next room-"

"You shouldn't lie to your friends like that," her mother said disapprovingly. "That's no way to maintain close friendships."

Hermione briefly reflected on the fact that her mother would be eaten alive in Slytherin.

"Hermione was on an adventure and didn't want to share the loot," her father said, defending her. "The rules are different; it's not like she lied about anything important. What came next, Hermione?"

"Um." Hermione hesitated. "The next room held a troll."

Her parents both broke into loud objections, and Hermione winced.

"A _troll?_ "

"Is this how the one got in on Halloween? It escaped this ridiculous puzzle?"

"A troll is a much higher-level encounter than a person of your year should be taking on alone!"

"I am going to write to that school and-"

"It was _fine!_ " Hermione said loudly. "Mum, the troll on Halloween was a freak accident, and it all ended up okay. I even made friends from it. Freak accidents can happen at any school."

Hermione's mother gave her a disapproving look, her lips tightly pursed, but she fell silent.

"And Dad, I-" Hermione faltered. _Higher level encounter?_ "The entire obstacle course was an optional thing. I wasn't in any danger at any time I didn't think I could handle," she went with. "And I didn't have to _kill_ the troll, just get past it. I blinded it using a really bright light spell and ran past it."

"Brilliant!" her father proclaimed. Her mother still looked disapproving.

"The next room had magic fire spring up in the doorways, and seven bottles. There was a logic puzzle on the table to figure out which potion would help me move forward."

"The puzzle level," her father said, nodding. "Did you beat it?"

Hermione sniffed. "Of course."

Something in her tone amused her parents; her father burst into a wide grin and laughed again, and her mother broke a smile.

"You were always good at logic," her mother said, her face softening. "What came next?"

"The next room was… um…" Hermione paused. How best to explain this?

"Yes?" her father prompted.

"The next room was the last room, and it held a magic mirror," Hermione said finally. "You had to be able to look into the mirror and want the prize without wanting to _use_ the prize."

"Use the prize?" her mother repeatedly quizzically.

"Like a magical weapon or special item," her father explained to her mother. He turned back to her. "Right, Hermione?"

"Something like that," Hermione admitted. "I managed this one pretty easily, actually. I didn't know what the treasure was ahead of time, so it was easy to get for me. I replaced it with a fake one, so other people wouldn't know immediately that someone had gone through first."

"How do _you_ know that you didn't get a fake treasure from someone else too?" her mother asked.

Hermione frowned.

"Umm," she said. "I suppose I don't."

"Did everyone else know what the treasure was ahead of time?" her father asked.

"The other people I know who tried the obstacle course did," Hermione said. "There were clues left around the school, kind of? I just did the obstacle course first, and I didn't care about the reward. The others found out about the magical artifact _first_ , and that's what lured them into the dungeon."

"Good for you for winning," her mother said, pleased. "Did you get any recognition for it, besides this prize?"

Hermione considered.

"I got 50 house points awarded to me at the end of the year feast," she said carefully. "It was enough to push my house into the lead to win the House Cup."

Her parents beamed at her.

"My little girl, an adventurer and dungeoneer in her own right," her father said. He looked incredibly proud of her, almost like he might cry.

"Well done, Hermione," her mother said, smiling. "I'm proud of you."

In the face of her parents' obvious joy, Hermione softened and smiled back. It was almost hard to – she'd grown used to hiding her true feelings, even if they were happy ones.

There was a whistle from the other room, and Hermione's mother stood up.

"That'll be the kettle," she said, going into the other room.

Her father sat there, looking at Hermione proudly. She shifted, a little uncomfortable.

"Hermione, I have been pretending to be a wizard crawling through dungeons for years now," he told her, and recognition finally sparked for Hermione. "The fact that you-"

"Is this that game you go over to Mr. Stalling's house for on Thursday nights?" Hermione cut in.

"Yes. Don't interrupt. Now," her father continued, "I know your mother might not seem the most supportive of you going to magic school, but she's just worried about your safety. But I want you to know that I am incredibly, incredibly proud of you."

"I… that's great?" Hermione offered. She wasn't really sure what her father was looking for.

"If you are going on any more dungeon adventures, or adventures in general, I would be more than happy to help you get whatever equipment-"

"Are you _encouraging_ our daughter to get into trouble?" Hermione's mother said sharply, coming back into the room with the tea tray.

" _No_. I'm just offering our support as loving parents to our daughter," he shot back.

Hermione's mother sighed a long, put-upon sigh and settled into the couch with her tea cup, rolling her eyes dramatically. Hermione giggled.

"Hermione, what are your plans for the summer?" her mother asked, tactfully changing the subject. "Do you have any homework?"

"Oh! Yes, they gave us summer homework," Hermione said. "I also got an internship!"

"An _internship?_ " her father repeated. "After your first year?"

"Hermione, you're _twelve_ ," her mother said, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't that something more for the older students to be looking into?"

"The Wizarding World doesn't even _have_ internships, really," Hermione said smugly. "I asked my head of house, and he _found_ one for me. I'll be working at a wizarding publishing company, helping get coffee, read manuscripts, and helping copy-edit for grammar."

Her parents exchanged a look.

"That sounds right up your alley," her father said, looking mildly impressed. "Good work experience, at any rate."

"Does this mean we shall have to drive you into London every day?" her mother asked.

"No! They've agreed to give me a work Portkey – it's like a, um…" Hermione trailed off. "Well, it'll take me to work and back every day at the designated times. Like… a teleportation pad, but without the pad?"

"That's incredibly practical," Hermione's mother murmured, approving. "And this will help keep you busy over the summer."

"Excellent," Hermione's father said, nodding. "We were worried you would end up bored. And we didn't figure you'd want to invite your school friends over here."

Hermione winced, imagining the things that Blaise or Millie might say unintentionally.

"Probably it's best I not," Hermione said hastily. "I _do_ have one friend, though, that I might ask over…"


	67. Playing Dress Up

Hermione wasn't sure how to dress for her internship, so she asked for help from her mother, who helped her find a black business-y dress from her own closet. The dress didn't fit too poorly, either – her mother helped her with the fit, clucking over how she was growing so fast, and that her growth spurt would probably end soon.

"And once you stop growing _up_ , you'll start growing _out_ , dear," she said with a wink. "Let me know when you're ready to go bra shopping."

"Mum!" Hermione's face flamed.

"Well, I presume you'll want _normal_ bras, yes?" her mother pushed. "Who knows what your witch classmates wear? They might still use corsets and stays, especially given the way so many things seem stuck in time a century or two ago."

"I- okay," Hermione admitted. "That's probably a good idea. None of my dorm mates wear bras yet, so… I don't really know what witches wear."

"Whenever you need it, we'll go," her mother assured her. "Have you had your first period yet?"

"Mum!"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Hermione. It's a natural part of growing up."

Hermione hesitated.

"I… I _had_ one," she said, faltering. "Only… it was just the one. I didn't have any others."

Hermione's mother turned to look at her curiously.

"Only one?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Hermione said. She hadn't realized that she hadn't had another one, after the first she'd had. "I had a period back in March, but I haven't had another one since."

Something flitted across her mother's face.

"Hermione, that's not how periods work," she said. "You get them every month. Are you sure it wasn't spotting of some sort?"

"I'm _sure_ ," Hermione said crossly. "I had cramps and everything. And there was a _lot_ of blood. I even used tampons."

Hermione could tell her mother was trying not to laugh.

"But I only had the one," Hermione continued. "I'm… I didn't really realize I only had one. I forgot about it, once it went away."

Her mother shot her with a sharp look. "Hermione, are you pregnant?"

"No!" Hermione yelped. "Mum, I've never even _kissed-"_

"I'm just asking, love. I can't think of any other reason that a woman's period would suddenly stop like that."

Hermione watched her mother rummage through her jewelry box for business-appropriate jewelry. Hermione bit her lip.

"Mum," she said. "A girl gets a period because her body is trying to get ready to have a baby, right?"

"Yes, love," her mother said distractedly. "The uterus passes the lining of the womb after conception hasn't taken place."

"Well, maybe my body isn't ready to start having babies," Hermione said, keeping her voice very even. "Maybe it just wanted to try it the once, and then it decided it wasn't ready yet."

"Oh, Hermione." Her mother was exasperated. "That's not how it _works_. A woman-"

She broke off, and Hermione quickly looked up to see that her mother was looking at her, her eyes narrowed. Hermione quickly tried to school her expression into something more neutral.

" _Hermione_ ," her mother said, her tone sharp. Hermione winced. "Hermione Jean Granger, what have you _done?_ "

"I- nothing mum, really!" Hermione objected. "I just had a period!"

"And did this period occur _naturally_ …?"

Hermione winced, and her mother's face got very tight.

"So you had an _unnatural_ period," her mother said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I take it this is some witchy thing? A hazing ritual? Everyone bleed in the cauldron to unite us as friends?"

"Mum!" Hermione was scandalized. "That'd be Dark magic! No! There's not- it wasn't-"

"Then _what_ ," she said, coming over and sitting down next to Hermione, "pray tell, _was_ it?"

Her mother's eyes were sharp and piercing. Hermione squirmed, her Slytherin skills at hiding the truth abandoning her in the face of her mother's honed lie-detection skills.

"I did a ritual," Hermione said in a rush. "A witch having her first period at exactly eighteen months after she turns eleven helps maximize her magical potential. So I did a ritual for fertility, and it hurt a _lot_ , but when I didn't have a sperm in me to fertilize anything, I got my period two weeks later, the day before my half birthday. So it _worked_ , but then… I only had the one, I guess, because my body wasn't ready to start doing it on its own, and I didn't do the ritual again…" She trailed off. "I hope everything _worked_. If I did all that and it didn't even _count_ as a proper period, I'm going to be mad. It hurt a _lot._ "

"Oh, Hermione," her mother sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

Her mother wound her arms around her, pulling her close. Hermione bit her lip and hugged her mother close, burying her face in her arm.

"You are growing up so fast, and growing up in this very different world," her mother said softly, stroking Hermione's hair. "How am I supposed to support my little girl when she's off doing things I can't understand? Doing things to change her body?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said, her voice petulant. "I just had the one period, that's all. I'm sure I'll get the normal annoying ones eventually."

Her mother pulled back, giving Hermione a stern look.

"Be as that may, we are making an appointment for you for the gynecologist," she told her. "We are making sure you haven't somehow permanently hurt yourself with this magical ritual."

Hermione sighed. "Fine."

"Now," said her mother, straightening up. She withdrew a pair of small earrings, extending them. "These are imitation black pearl studs. Does the wizarding world have things like this?"

"I _think_ so," Hermione said. "No one really wears much jewelry at school, but I think so."

"Then these will go with that dress." Her mother stood and went to put away her other jewelry. "Do you have any sort of business shoe to wear with that dress? I don't want you to wear your school shoes with a calf-length dress."

"No, but I think I might fit in yours, now. My feet finished growing first," Hermione said, digging in her mother's closet. "Look! I can fit in your shoes."

She offered a hesitant grin at her mother, who sighed but smiled fondly at her.

"Are you sure you want to wear those?" she cautioned. "Heels can hurt after a while."

"I can use a cushioning charm," Hermione assured her.

"They'll hurt your _legs_ , darling, not just your feet," her mother said, frowning. "They put a lot of strain on your calves."

"I can always take a pair of flats in my bag in case," Hermione said. She looked at herself in the mirror, in her mother's dress and heels. She pulled her hair up into a bun and held it there. She looked very grown up, she thought. Just like the professional type of witch who would have a job at a publishing firm.

"Well, it is a special occasion," her mother conceded. "Just be sure to take a couple painkillers with you in your purse and a pair of flats in case you need them. We'll need you to wake up early tomorrow, too – I'll have to do your hair before I leave for the practice."


	68. Lleuwlynn & Selwyn

The Portkey's yank behind her navel sent her stomach reeling, but Hermione was able to suppress the nausea, desperately focusing on the sensation of air inside of her to help her stabilize her sense of self. She didn't want the first thing she did at her new internship to be vomiting on Mr. Vitac's shoes.

"Hermione Granger! Right on time!"

Hermione opened her eyes to see Cadmus Vitac offering her a grin, looking just as frazzled as he'd looked in Professor Snape's office. He was wearing a sort of mustard-colored tweed suit with a burnt orange robe.

"Mr. Vitac," Hermione said, tucking her portkey into her purse. She offered him a slight bow. "Thank you very much again for the opportunity. I'm very excited to get started."

Cadmus raised an eyebrow and gave her a slow look, carefully regarding her.

"First lesson," he said abruptly. "What is appropriate to wear and not wear to work."

Hermione felt her heart plummet.

"I- I'm so sorry," she said. "I did my best to look professional- I really did-"

And she _had_. Her mother had helped her impossible curls into an elegant French twist, and Hermione had even put on nylons with her dress and heels, and she'd worn her nicest black robe over it. She thought she looked very grown-up. To hear that she'd gotten it all wrong was heartbreaking.

"You _do_ look very professional," Cadmus reassured her, "but just for the wrong profession. Come. Let me show you."

He gestured for her to follow her, and Hermione walked after him, doing her best not to teeter in her mother's heels. They went down the hallway to a large set of red doors, which Cadmus threw open, and Hermione gasped.

It looked almost like a warehouse, but somehow incredibly _not_. There were people with desks all over and oddly-glowing lights on them, murmuring over manuscript pages. Another side of the room seemed to be sewing covers together. Behind them all were incredibly large bookcases, with the ladders on them that looked two or three stories tall. Pages were running around, grabbing references off the shelves and running over with them to editors, who snatched them up, muttering to themselves as they read.

"This is the work room," Cadmus told her. "Now: what is the first thing you notice about how everyone is dressed?"

Hermione looked, watching for a minute.

"No one is in outer robes," she observed. "You're the only person who I could say has one on."

"Very good," Cadmus said. "And what else?"

Hermione gave the room another look, before looking up beseechingly. Cadmus chuckled.

"Let's go introduce you around, and we'll see if you can't figure it out," he told her.

He guided her toward the tables. Hermione felt a buzzing sort of nervousness in her throat, and she tried her best to keep it pushed down.

To her surprise, as they neared one of the tables, the couple people who looked up abruptly looked nervous _themselves_ and leapt to their feet. Hermione looked at Cadmus, quizzical.

"Lads, this is Hermione Granger," he told them. "She's going to be helping us this summer."

The two men exchanged a look, before offering her deep bows.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," they both told her. Hermione's eyes bulged.

"Ah, you don't have to-"

"Hermione here is learning today about how we dress here at Lleuwlynn and Selwyn," Cadmus said, chuckling. "Now, Hermione – what do you observe?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"They're only wearing basic robes, and they're dusty," Hermione said. "The- the woman over there, she's wearing a split robe, too."

"Exactly," Cadmus said, nodding. "Practical. Easy. Nothing fancy here – no one's going to see us except the books." He gave her an appraising look. "You're dressed more for the Daily Prophet office than here, since reporters are in the public eye. Here, no one cares what you wear, so long as you're adequately covered and can get around quickly."

Hermione sighed.

"I'll try again tomorrow," she told him.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it," he assured her. He smiled indulgently. "Besides – I'm supposed to teach you business things like this, right? That's what Severus said."

He led her around, introducing her to the others. Hermione felt more and more awkward as it went on, everyone bowing to her and such. At least she was _overdressed_ , she thought to herself, not _underdressed_. Better overprepared than underprepared.

After meeting everyone, Cadmus took her over to a desk. There was a quill, a pot of red ink, and a stack of papers.

"This is your desk," he told her. "Your first job is to grammar-check this manuscript. It's been fact-checked already, so don't worry about that."

"Do you want me to check for style, too?" Hermione said, taking a seat and scooting her chair in. "Confusing wording, that sort of thing?"

Cadmus considered for a moment, then shrugged.

"Might as well," he said. "Couldn't hurt!"

He left her to it and wandered off.

Hermione spent the first day of her internship reading all about garden pests and different ways of handling them. She ate a sandwich at her desk for lunch, but she kept reading and marking while she did. By the end of the day, she'd finished the manuscript and had it all marked up, and she had learned more than she ever thought she'd need to know about gophers, rabbits, doxies, fairies, and gnomes.

"Well done," Cadmus told her upon returning. "This will help out a lot."

"I could have probably gotten started on another one," Hermione admitted. "Not finished, but started. You could leave two tomorrow?"

Cadmus's eyebrows rose almost into his hairline.

"We'll see how this one is, and we'll discuss it tomorrow," he told her. "Let me help you back to the foyer, just until you get the feel for the place."

Hermione tottered after him in heels to the reception area, before withdrawing her Portkey. She glanced at the clock – two minutes to go – and then bowed to him.

"Thank you again for this opportunity," she told him honestly. "I'm really excited to learn about publishing."

Cadmus chuckled.

"Miss Granger, if you marked this," he said, holding the manuscript aloft, "with the same skill and thoroughness you did your test essay, believe me – I am going to be getting rather more out of the arrangement than you."

The Portkey abruptly yanked at her navel, spinning Hermione through space to land hard in her living room. She stumbled in the heels and fell backwards onto the sofa, slightly queasy, but relieved that her first day hadn't turned out so badly after all.

* * *

Working at Lleuwlynn and Selwyn went much better the next day, when Hermione wore a simple black summer robe, and no one had any cause to stare at her and give her odd looks. By Friday, she'd ditched robes altogether and was wearing black denims and dark tops to work – no one paid attention to what people were wearing, so long as it wasn't fancy. She'd caught one of the pages in the stacks in worn blue jeans and an old Quidditch jersey; as long as she could run around and get her work done, she suspected she'd be fine.

Her main job continued to be grammar-checking manuscripts. Cadmus Vitac was very appreciative of her skill in doing so and had loudly begun wondering aloud if he should make a habit of sending his copy editors to Muggle school to learn their grammar properly. Hermione sank further and further into her chair each time he did this, uneasily watching the faces of the other copy editors around her grow redder and redder. Hermione suspected her skill with grammar came more from how much she liked to read and her mother's constant corrections as she grew up than just Muggle school, but she wasn't about to say a word.

There was the added bonus that even as she was working, she was reading and learning about magic, depending on what she was reading. A lot of the books she read were a bit beyond her, but she was pleased with the amount she was able to grasp. There were a lot of good books about defending against Dark magic and creatures that Hermione found fascinating, and Hermione found herself with a list of spells she wanted to learn next to her notes, the Patronus Charm topping the list. Anything that could fight off something as terrifying as a Dementor was bound to be handy.

When she wasn't copy-editing, Hermione was fetching coffee for the other editors, shadowing them at their jobs, or helping the fact-checkers by running and finding reference books in the giant library they had.

The fact-checkers were _impressive_ , and Hermione admired them immensely. It was incredible to see them reading, sometimes murmuring along silently with the words, then jerk suddenly and come to life, barking out instructions. It was made _more_ impressive by the fact that they didn't need to check every fact, just _some_ of them; each of the fact checkers seemed to have an incredible memory filled with all kinds of obscure magical minutia they could reference against. Hermione wished she could remember so much.

Hermione's fellow copywriters didn't seem to like her very much, which she didn't mind – the pages were more fun for Hermione to try and make friends with anyway. They all tended to be eccentric bookworms who had taken the job more for the benefits of being around books all day than the salary that came with it – an impulse Hermione could well understand.

They also tended to be younger. One of them, Michael, was a tall and lanky fellow not long out of Hogwarts who enjoyed discussing obscure magical theories with her. Another, Claire, was a pretty young woman in her early twenties who took to teaching Hermione the different theories of publishing and cataloging, as well as what magic was affected by the different phases of the moon. Whenever Hermione asked where they had learned such things, she always just got a shrug and "the stacks" as an answer. It was always from a book somewhere in the stacks.

"The stacks" referred to the rows and rows of large, two-story bookshelves kept in the back of the room; enormous, looming, and fascinating. Hermione found it incredible. They had books from centuries ago, charmed and protected against damage. Hermione asked one of the pages about them at one point, and the page had shrugged.

"A lot of it's just a reference library for the fact-checkers, but we keep all the original editions of things we publish," she'd told her. "If a change to a book isn't considered serious enough to publish a retraction or a new edition, we just edit the original and fix it up."

"Edit the original…?" Hermione had wondered.

 _That_ had led Hermione on a crash-course on _how_ books were published in the wizarding world.

There was a printing press that was used to typeset the pages of books and press the ink to the pages. However, each page was only pressed two or three times, not hundreds of times for the hundreds of books to be made. After enough pages for two or three books had been made, the book's pages were bound together, the cover sewn, and the books completed.

After that, the books went on to the spell casting department – a group of determined but weary-looking people in a side room of the warehouse. One book of the three would be designated the "master" copy, and a series of spells would secure it as such. The Gemino Curse would then be used to duplicate the master copy over and over and over, until they had the amount of copies needed for the print run. More spellworkers would then spell the copies with copyright protection spells, to ensure that that copies couldn't be copied, and with linking spells to link them back to the master copy. This ensured that if any changes needed to be made, a small change in the master copy would show up in all the duplicate copies, and that if a book sold out, another print run could be made from the master copy with little fuss.

The second book was designated the "original" copy. These were marked clearly in their inner covers and spelled against all decay and changes. This was the original edition of the book and was to be kept pristine and never touched; these were put in a different part of the library than all the other books.

Sometimes there was a third copy of the book made, designated the "tracker". If a book was particularly academic and might change as more advances came out, tracker copies were more common. The tracker copy was bespelled to reflect all changes made, in different ink colors, and to record each edition update on its inner cover. By pressing her wand to the words "third edition" in a book, Hermione could watch the text of the book change and flow backwards in time to show her what had been in the book at another time, and watch the text change back when she let go, resuming its current sixth edition presentation.

It was fascinating to Hermione, and she found herself begging the book casters for lessons on how to cast the publishing spells when she was on her breaks. The casters were very stringent and refused, citing copyright and how the spells were protected and only to be used for the publishing house, but one of the younger casters relented, occasionally teaching Hermione the wand movements or incantation for a spell or two by the coffee pot. He told her strictly that they were spells only to be used for the publishing house, and not by her, at least not for several years, until she was powerful enough to manage them, but he taught them to her anyway. Hermione made secret notes in a journal of the incantations and the wand movements to try again when she was older. She hoped that she'd be able to get the same internship next summer, but just in case she didn't, she wanted to try on her own sometime.

Book-making was fascinating, and it cheered Hermione to see how important books still were in the magical world; books in the Muggle world were becoming less and less popular over time with the growing popularity of the television.

For once, Hermione found herself grateful at the wizarding world's old-fashioned ways.


	69. Letters and Life Lessons

Her work study kept her busy most of the time, but Hermione exchanged letters with some of her friends from school. Tracey and Millie wrote regularly, not that either of them were doing much this summer – their letters were mostly filled with gossip about other Slytherins, especially Tracey's. While Hermione wasn't thrilled with all the gossip, she was slowly learning that gossip was just another word for "information network," and in Slytherin, having the most information was critical to success. It helped if she thought of Tracey and Millie as spies helping her plot a devious spy plot, but sometimes it was a challenge – it was interesting to learn that Marcus Flint had been held back, for example, but it was completely uninteresting to learn what Pansy Parkinson had worn to Diagon Alley when she was seen in the company of Draco Malfoy last Thursday.

Blaise wrote occasionally too, and his letters were gems. He wrote outrageous lies about where he was and what he was doing, citing exploring ancient Mayan ruins, chasing lions in Africa, and infiltrating the Forbidden City all on his own. His charming tales were over-the-top and ridiculously funny, and Hermione found herself writing her own lies back about how she was spending the summer planning a heist for the crown jewels, time-traveling to stop an assassination in America, and learning the secret magic of the Australian Aborigines. Their letters flew back and forth, and though Hermione hadn't really learned anything else about Blaise save his skill in fiction writing, Hermione found herself thinking more and more fondly of him. His letters were a treat.

Not all her letters were sent by owl, however. Hermione sent her letters to Harry by royal mail.

Harry was extremely glad to get Hermione's letters in the post. None of his other friends were sending him letters, apparently, despite him sending his owl Hedwig out with letters for them repeatedly when his relatives weren't looking. Hermione could tell from his tone that he was feeling frustrated and hurt, and Hermione could commiserate with that. She knew all too well what it was like to feel isolated with no friends – she had lived it as a Muggle for several years.

Harry's relatives weren't happy with him and had locked his school things up under the stairs. Harry was worried about completing his summer homework, which Hermione thought was a very sensible worry to have. They were also suspicious of the letters he kept getting in the post, but because they came through the 'normal' mail, they didn't stop him. Hermione had responded by sending him a small lock-picking kit (her father had been excited to help her choose one for her friend) and a sketch of instructions. She also offered to invite him over for part of the summer, but Harry declined; he didn't think that his relatives would let him go and stay with someone else magical.

Hermione also spent her free time between arriving home and when her parents arrived home doing her homework and practicing her magic. She felt confident at casting all the spells contained in the 2nd year spell book now, and she was slowly working her way through the 3rd. She wanted to master them all as soon as she could; trickier and more powerful spells often used the easy spells as building blocks, and she was determined to have her basics down pat.

Hermione was careful to keep to the school books she'd purchased at Flourish and Blotts. She'd glanced over a few of the books she'd inherited from Quirrell, and they were _Dark_. There were many books that were just full of curses or about curse construction from all over the world. There were many on Magical Theory, but at a level much higher than Hermione could grasp. She hadn't explored many more, but she had set aside a couple that looked like they might only skirt the edges of Grey magic. She could read those later, at Hogwarts. She was still partially convinced that something terrible might attack her from within one of Voldemort's books, and she'd much rather that happen at Hogwarts, with a trained Mediwitch in the Hospital wing, so she would stand a chance of surviving such a thing.

During this time, Hermione also practiced flying.

Flying was _hard_. Hermione had gotten fairly good at gliding, _if_ she jumped off from something high, and _if_ the winds were right. If a cross-breeze came by, though, Hermione would careen off topsy-turvy, the air elemental inside her wanting to play with the new breeze. If she wanted to just fly _up_ , and not slow a descent, the air elemental would get incredibly excited and try to send her every which way – generally up and another direction, instead of _just_ "up". Any progress she was making was a hard-fought battle, and Hermione found herself frequently frustrated from trying.

The worst part was there were no _books_ on this. There were no reference materials she could run to and check and see what she was doing wrong. She had to just muddle through it to figure it out. And she daren't write Snape about it; not only would he be livid at her putting such sensitive information into a letter, but she also desperately wanted to prove to him that she could do it – he'd been so hesitant about teaching her at all.

Hermione didn't stop trying, though. The idea of _flying_ was still fantastic and magical to her, in the way muggles meant it, not in the wizarding way. She may have grown quickly disenchanted with brooms, but Hermione desperately wanted to be able to fly on her own. If nothing else, it was helping exercise her magical core – Hermione frequently exhausted her magic practicing, and re-draining whatever little had come back before bed was a matter of levitating her bookcase for seconds now, not minutes. Hermione wondered if her magic would stabilize and become easier to use at some point as she grew older, and if flying would come easier to her then as well. She certainly hoped so.

* * *

One day, Hermione was editing a manuscript for grammar, but the longer she went on, the more questions she had. She finally paused, going into the stacks and bringing back a reference to check something, before shaking her head and calling over her boss.

"Mr. Vitac? Has this one been fact-checked yet?"

"Hmm?" Cadmus came over. "Fact-checked?"

"This book is contradicting itself, and a lot of the claims it's making aren't possible," she told him. "The timeline is impossible. Did this one skip the fact-checkers first?"

Cadmus frowned. "What is it?"

"It's called _Magical Me_ ," Hermione said. "By someone called Gilderoy-"

"-Gilderoy Lockhart," Cadmus said, finishing with her. He looked exasperated for a moment, before he sat down next to her. "...You're Muggle-born, yes?"

"My parents are muggles," Hermione said carefully. She hadn't brought the New Blood issue up with anyone at her internship.

"Then you are aware of the concepts of 'fiction' and 'non-fiction'," Cadmus said, nodding. "Lockhart's books, even though they are written as if they are memoirs, I would classify as fiction."

"Fiction?" Hermione paused. "You're saying they're not true."

"I'm saying that the public likes to buy books from a flashy, attractive wizard who they think is a hero," Cadmus said, choosing his words carefully. "The wizarding world doesn't classify books in the same way the muggle world does. Lockhart's books end up next to the exotic werewolf romances, but if the section is classified 'Exciting books', it doesn't mean wizards realize what's true and what's made up."

"Exotic werewolf romances?" Hermione's eyes grew wide.

Cadmus waved her off. "I've avoided you getting those manuscripts. You're too young. But that's not the point." He gave her a grim grin. "If you present something fictional but plausible as 'non-fiction,' and people don't realize it's made up, some people will believe it."

"So no one fact-checked this book," Hermione said, "because it's fictional."

"Exactly." He nodded.

"But some of the inconsistencies aren't anything to do with the made-up story bits," Hermione argued. "If it's supposed to _seem_ non-fictional, shouldn't we make it better?"

Cadmus gave her a wry smile. "I'd rather leave the inconsistencies in there," he told her honestly, a sparkle in his eye. "I'll publish his books because people enjoy them and they sell well, but I'd rather leave clues in that help indicate to people that they're not quite true."

He patted her on the head, and Hermione sighed, returning to checking the manuscript. There weren't many grammar slips, but she still felt like something was fundamentally unfair and wrong about purposefully publishing a book that had errors in it.

Later, when the manuscript had been sent to the binders, Hermione saw the finished product – and the cover, with a _very_ attractive man grinning at her. His perfect teeth gleamed as he grinned and gave her a roguish wink, and without realizing it, Hermione felt her breath catch.

 _This_ was the man who had written the book, who was parading around as a hero?

Hermione swallowed hard.

It hurt to admit to herself that had she not read the book first, before seeing the cover, she would have all too easily believed he was a hero. He _looked_ like a hero who would have dashing adventures. A person looking like that, _that_ attractive, anyone would want to believe the best of all too easily.

Though Hermione had managed to admit it to herself, she'd never mention it to anyone else. She made a mental note to endeavor to look past people's looks, and to beware of trying to believe the best of people because she found them attractive. She never wanted to end up tricked by someone's grin and a flirty wink.

Another part of her idly noted that if _she_ managed to end up that attractive when she grew up, maybe people would believe her more easily, too. Hermione touched her riotous hair, self-conscious, and scowled. Life was fundamentally unfair.

It was a day of hard self-realizations. The entire affair left Hermione in a dark mood the rest of the day.


	70. Magic for the Home

Hermione's parents came home early one day to find Hermione drawing with chalk in the entry way, candles at the points of a star inside of a circle. Hermione was in a set of robes, a silver knife from the kitchen in the middle of the circle with her, and there was a brief stand-off as her parents stared at her in horror, Hermione staring back in shock.

"Mum…" Hermione said weakly. "Dad…"

"Hermione." Her mother's tone was polite. "Might we come inside?"

Hermione scrambled out of her ritual circle and out of the way, wringing her hands as her parents entered the house, gingerly stepping around the candles.

Hermione was mortified, and her parents had to be highly alarmed, she imagined. After the awkward dance around the set-up of the ritual as they entered, her mother insisted on a family discussion in the living room, and Hermione slinked into the room and sunk into a chair.

Her mother brought a tea tray, and there was an awkward silence as they all took tea, not looking at each other.

"Hermione," her mother said finally, with a sigh. "What were you doing in the entryway?"

"Nothing," Hermione muttered. "It was just a protection ritual. I wanted to see if I could get it to work."

"A ritual…?" her father said, frowning. "I thought you did magic with your wand. What's all this about rituals?"

"Magic used to be done only with rituals," Hermione said, not looking up. "More powerful magic is still done with rituals, sometimes. Wands can't do everything."

Her parents exchanged a look.

"It's just… Hermione, that symbol has a _very_ different meaning to us than it does to you," her mother said gently. "I know we've never been a religious family, but that symbol generally means-"

"It's _not_ demonic," Hermione cut in, with a scowl. "I made _sure_ it was right-side up. It's for _protection_. Pentacles are only bad if you make them upside-down. I can't _believe_ that you'd _think_ that I would-"

"Do not talk to your mother in that tone," her father said sharply, cutting her off. "Hermione, we have been _very patient_ with you with all this magic. We are treating you with respect and as an adult. Do not make us regret that choice."

Hermione sunk deeper into the couch, scowling darker, not looking at her parents. She was embarrassed, and angry that she had been so foolish as to have been caught. She'd gotten sloppy, over the summer. If she were in the Slytherin dorms, she'd never have been so careless.

Her parents looked at each other again.

"Can we see this ritual you were planning on doing?" her father asked.

Hermione swallowed hard.

"You don't really have a choice," her father said, his voice hard. "Go."

Sulking, Hermione went and got the spell book she had been using. It'd been one in the book Snape had given her, luckily – she didn't need her parents seeing some of the horrific ones in the books she'd inherited from Quirrell. Unluckily, it was definitely a blood magic spell – one that the Ministry would definitely classify as Grey at _best_.

"See?" she said, pointing to the drawing of the pentacle on the page. "It's designed to keep bad people who would intend us harm out of the house. That's all."

Her parents, to her annoyance, didn't take her at her word; they both insisted on reading the entire ritual, as well as the footnotes and example cases on the next page. They took their time, and Hermione had nothing to do but sit on the couch and wait, jiggling her foot, anxious.

"So you wanted to protect the house?" her mother said finally.

"Well, that too," Hermione said. "Mostly you."

"Us?" her father said, his eyebrows raising.

"Um." Hermione looked down, embarrassed. "Yes. You and mum. And me too, I guess. From robbers and burglars and the like. I heard on the telly that there's been a run of burglaries around. And I'd just thought... you know, if bad people can't get in, we'd be safer from that sort of thing."

Her parents looked over the ritual again.

"This says you need blood to link it to the house," her mother said. "That sounds… unpleasant."

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably, trying to minimize the damage. No matter how she spun it, using blood in magic came off as… not good.

"The blood links the house to my magic, so the ritual knows what to protect," Hermione said. "It's just an issue of marking the door with my blood, and the circle as well."

Her father whistled. "Magic is certainly not what I expected."

Hermione bit her tongue.

Her mother looked thoughtful for a moment, before her face settled into resolve.

"Hermione, you've certainly caught us off-guard, with this little ritual of yours," she said, looking at her daughter. "You should have told us what you wanted to do, and you should have _asked_."

Hermione looked at the floor.

"…but," her mother continued, "this is not a bad idea, on the whole. Neither your father not I would object to this magical security system. It might ease our worries, if anything."

Hermione's eyes flew to her mother's.

"You wouldn't…?"

"Why would we?" Her mother shrugged. "So long as the chalk comes off the ground, I don't see an issue with it."

"But… even with the blood?" Hermione asked, faltering.

"It's messy, but makes some kind of logical sense, really," her dad said, examining the book further. "Here – look, honey, this one says if all the residents put their blood in, they'll get an alert if someone who means them harm tries to enter the home. Everyone part of the same 'bloodline' will be protected." He looked up at her. "'Bloodline'?"

"Family," Hermione translated. "Some magical families have very extended ones."

"So the magic is tracking our DNA," her father said, looking back to the book. "That's… quite impressive, actually."

"We could all do this on Saturday, possibly," her mother told her father. "It looks like this wouldn't take that long, and I'd rather not pay for an electric alarm system if we don't need to."

Hermione watched on in astonishment as her parents discussed what would be the best time for them to do a blood magic ritual as a family. A _blood magic_ ritual. It wasn't _Dark_ , sure – no one could deny that wanting to protect your family was definitively a _good_ cause – but it was still _blood magic_. And her parents were _fine_ with it – just concerned about the possibility of infection, now, her father mentioning how he'd bring some alcohol pads home from work.

Her parents were _Muggles_ , she abruptly realized. They had no frame of reference, only what she told them. Hermione had absorbed the biases and opinions of the people around her the previous year, including the cultural condemnation of blood magic as _bad_. _She_ was the only one concerned with doing semi-forbidden magic – her parents just saw it as "magic", and useful magic at that.

And they wanted to help out.

Not for the first time, Hermione felt desperate appreciation and love well up inside her for her parents, and she threw herself across the room at them, hugging them tightly, choking back tears.

"Hermione-!"

Hermione couldn't get out the words she wanted to. There was a jumble of "I'm sorry" and "-thought you would be mad" and "just wanted to help" and "miss you" and "worry about you". To her embarrassment, she started to cry, and her mother pulled her closer and stroked her hair.

"Oh, Hermione," she said, petting her hair, gentle, and that just made Hermione cry harder. "It's okay – it's hard to be growing up into a mature young woman, but still be my little girl. It's okay if you're both. It's okay."

Hermione felt her embarrassment burning inside of her, but gradually dying out in the face of her mother's comfort. She'd been so embarrassed at being caught, like she was doing something forbidden, but her parents were just disappointed she hadn't trusted them enough to ask permission. She was embarrassed she was crying, and she wasn't even fully sure _why_ she was crying, but she couldn't seem to stop.

A little while later, Hermione's sobs subsided to sniffles, and her mother rubbed her hand on her back.

"Remember, Hermione," her mother told her, her warm brown eyes holding hers. "You're not in this alone. It must be hard growing up in a magical world so different than our own, but we're here for you, Hermione. You can always confide in us, okay?"

Hermione hiccupped. "Okay."

Her mother let her off her lap, and Hermione slid off, her face warm. She wiped at her tear tracks, then went to clean up the ritual set up in the entry way under her mother's watchful eye while her father made dinner.

* * *

Two days later, to Hermione's astonishment, her parents helped her with her ritual. While they couldn't do the magic, her father got out a compass and protractor and helped her make a geometrically-perfect pentacle in the entry way. Her mother got out matching tapers that Hermione didn't even know they had, and she helped put the candles at the appropriate points.

When Hermione began the ritual itself, her parents looked alarmed, but they stood dutifully off to the side, watching as Hermione recited the chant and her circle started to glow. She stood and cut her hand and smeared her blood on the door posts of the front door, standing on tiptoe to get above the door too. The blood glowed and was absorbed by the door frame, to her parents' collective astonishment, and Hermione gestured them forward.

Both her parents had alcohol wipes, and they wiped their hands to disinfect them before letting Hermione cut their hands with the silver knife. They both winced, and, looking a little ill, wiped their blood on the door frame where Hermione gestured, before kneeling with her, just outside of the circle, all of them smearing their blood in the center of the pentacle together. Hermione looked back to the book, reading the second part of the chant, and there was a feeling of swelling magic in the air, before there was a loud clap of power, the feeling vanished, and all the candles went out.

Hermione's parents stared down at the circle.

"Is that it?" her mother asked.

"Where did the blood go?" her dad wanted to know.

Hermione stood, her parents following her lead.

"The ritual is over," she said, taking her mother's hand in her own. "The blood's been used by the magic. It's helping protect the house, now. _Episkey_."

"Oh!" Her mother stared at her hand as the cut healed itself, and Hermione moved to her father, who was giving her a look, but looked amused.

"This would have been a handy trick to mention before I got the alcohol wipes and bandages ready," he told her.

"It would have been," Hermione admitted, face heating, "but I forgot that I could do it. _Episkey._ "

Her father's wound healed, and Hermione healed her own hand last, pleased that she couldn't find even the faintest scar.

"So what happens now?" he asked, looking down at her. "We wait for a robber?"

"Anyone who means us harm will have a difficult time entering the house," Hermione told him. "They'll feel uncomfortable, and suddenly remember something urgent they have to do somewhere else. If they push through, we'll all get a twinge, letting us know the house has been threatened."

"Even us?" her mother asked. "We don't have magic."

"I think so," Hermione said, biting her lip. "The circle took your blood too, so you're in it, too."

"Okay." Her mother sighed. "I hope we never need to use this, but I must admit, Hermione, I feel a little better knowing it's there."

Her parents started cleaning up the remains of the circle, and Hermione hurried to help.

"Ah… it's probably not best to mention this to other people," Hermione said, delicately. "You know, that we did this spell."

Her mother shot her a sharp look. "And why not?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm not supposed to be doing magic at home," she said honestly. "The other students with magic parents can get away with it, but if anyone asks if we did magic here, it'll be obvious I was breaking the rules."

Her parents nodded.

"Makes sense," her father said cheerfully. "You're probably not supposed to do magic with non-magical people either, I bet."

He shot a wink at her, and Hermione cracked a grin.

"Family secret then," he declared. "But Hermione, any other rituals you want to do in the house, let us know and ask us first, okay?"

"I will," Hermione agreed immediately.

"Good," her mother said. "Now: shall we do Indian for dinner?"

Hermione spent the evening warm and happy with her parents over curry, part of her still disbelieving that she'd just done magic with her parents. Her _muggle_ parents.

She wondered if anyone had ever attempted to do that spell with muggles before. From the impressions she got in the ritual books, she doubted anyone had ever tried.


	71. A Concerning Discovery

While Hermione was enjoying her summer, she noticed that Harry had stopped responding to her letters. Somewhat concerned, Hermione called the number Harry had given her one evening. A polite woman greeted her with "Dursley residence," and Hermione bid her a good evening before asking if she might speak to Harry Potter.

There was a gasp, then a loud ruckus in the background, and then a frantic man yelling at her that there was no Harry Potter that lived there, to leave his family alone, and to never speak to him again - before the phone was slammed down, hard.

Hermione had stared at her own phone for a long moment, before carefully replacing the receiver in its cradle.

That had _not_ been the reaction she expected.

Harry not answering her letters was worrying. His relatives denying he lived there was flat-out alarming.

Hermione gnawed at her lip, thinking.

The first thing she'd need to do would be investigate exactly what was going on. She couldn't make any plans without knowing exactly what she was dealing with.

Remembering her lesson from her ritual circle, Hermione approached her parents, suggesting she might visit a friend on Friday evening and return later the next day.

"He lives with his family, and he's terribly unhappy there," she said, urging. "He's not allowed to leave, and having a friend there would mean a lot to him."

Her parents looked at each other, sharing a weighted look, conversing without a word.

"This is Harry Potter?" her mother asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. "He lives with his Muggle relatives, who took him in after his parents were killed. They're not fans of magic."

" _Mister_ Harry Potter?" her father emphasized, narrowing his eyes.

Hermione caught his drift, and her face flared red.

"I'm not going to spend the night like _that!_ " Hermione said, horrified. "It's just- I have my internship until late Friday afternoon, and Harry has to do chores the latter half of Saturday, so I thought if I went over after dinner-"

"Where will you be staying?" her mother asked, and Hermione's face flamed.

" _Not_ in Harry's bedroom, if that's what you're asking!" she declared. "They have- they have another place where I can sleep-"

That was true; Harry had mentioned how he'd used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. The fact that Hermione didn't intend to sleep in it wasn't something she mentioned.

Her parents looked at each other and sighed.

"This is very important to you, isn't it?" her mother said. Her eyes looked heavy.

"It is," Hermione insisted. "It really is."

"Do you have a way to get there and back?" her father asked. "Or are we expected to-"

"There's a magic bus I can take," Hermione said. "I can pay the fare from my internship wages easily. It comes at all hours."

Her parents exchanged another glance.

"You are intending to go this Friday?" her father asked. "In two days?"

"Well, yes…"

Her mother snorted and stood up, dusting her clothes off, before folding her arms and giving Hermione a look.

"You may go," she told her.

"Yes!"

"- _if_ you come with me," her mother finished. "Right now."

Hermione blinked but stood up, obliging. Her father smirked, but Hermione followed her mother.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked.

Her mother looked back at her as they climbed the stairs, but she didn't answer.

They ended up in her parents' bedroom. Hermione sat on her parents' bed, and to her surprise, her mother sat on the bed as well, folding her legs elegantly.

"I trust you," her mother told her, "but you are _not_ going to a boy's house to spend the night without having had this conversation with me."

She fixed Hermione with a look, and Hermione's face flamed.

"Mum! You've already told me all about sex!"

"Yes, but as an abstract, at a high level," her mother told her. "You certainly don't know the specifics yet."

"I haven't had my period yet!" Hermione objected, horrified. "I can't even have sex yet!"

"See, that right there is why we need to have this conversation," her mother said pointedly. "You certainly _can_ have sex; you're just unlikely to get pregnant. But you certainly have all the necessary anatomy, Hermione."

Hermione's face burned red, and she gave a long, exasperated sigh of defeat. " _Fine_. Hang on."

Her mother gave her a quizzical look as Hermione dragged herself to her feet and left the room, returning a moment later with a muggle notebook and a set of colored pens.

"Are- are you going to take _notes?_ " her mother said, staring.

"Well, if I'm going to want to have sex someday, I may as well be _good_ at it." Hermione opened her notebook, looking at the pens on the coverlet and selecting a green one. "If I write things down, I'll be able to reference my notes someday if I have a question about something, like if I'm at school and you're not readily available."

She looked up at her mother, who was watching her with a blank expression. Hermione blinked.

"…is that not a good idea?" Hermione asked, gnawing on her lip.

Slowly, her mother began to laugh.

"Oh, Hermione," she said, reaching over and rustling Hermione's curls. "I love you. Never change."

Hermione's face was red when her mother pulled her hand back, but she was able to suppress her embarrassment by firmly putting her mind into academic mode as her mother began to talk about the mechanics of sexual acts, the psychology of attraction, and how avoid getting pregnant or catching a disease, with Hermione taking notes all the while.


	72. Casing the Joint

The Knight Bus dropped her off two streets over from Privet Drive, so Hermione could walk the rest of the way and not draw attention to herself. She was glad she'd planned ahead with this – the loud **BANG** of the Knight Bus _had_ to draw attention from Muggles. She had to sit down and let her stomach settle for a few long minutes after she'd gotten off. She had _not_ expected the ride the Knight Bus had given her; if she'd been warned, she _certainly_ wouldn't have eaten supper just before.

Hermione walked to Number 4 Privet Drive with a confidence in her step. She had decided against subterfuge and creeping around in the dark, instead deciding that the smartest move was to be out in the open, hiding in plain sight. She was wearing her mother's clothes and heels, a smart skirt and blouse set and pearls, and she had a shoulder bag with her. She'd put heavy makeup on as well, doing her best to look like an adult, or at least, an older teenager – one that might have a part-time job. She was glad she'd nearly finished her growth spurt – the height helped her look less like a child.

Hermione knocked smartly on the door, wearing a smile, and waited patiently. It was a Friday evening; she hoped that at least one of Harry's relatives would be home.

A moment later, a tall, pinched-looking woman opened the door, narrowing her eyes at her.

"Mrs. Petunia Dursley?" Hermione asked.

"Yes?" the pinched woman said, eyes narrowing.

"Please to meet you." Hermione swept her a short curtsy, more out of habit than anything. "I'm an Avon representative. A Marge Dursley gave me your name and said you might be interested in our new line. Do you have a moment? You can win a free gift for a few minutes of your time."

"Oh!" Petunia's face relaxes somewhat, the suspicion clearing. "Ah… yes, yes, come in."

"Thank you," Hermione said politely. She entered the house, casually glancing around. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Dursley."

"Thank you," Petunia said automatically. She guided Hermione into the sitting room. "I have the kettle on. I'll just be a moment with tea."

Hermione took her time looking around. There were photos of the family on the walls – a fat man, the thin woman, and a very heavy child who reminded Hermione of a shorter version of Goyle. There was no sign on the walls of anyone else living in the home.

Petunia returned with a tea kettle, tea bags, and sugar. Hermione settled herself onto a chair and accepted tea gratefully, careful to maintain her sophisticated posture.

"Your son?" she inquired, indicating one of the pictures.

"Yes." Petunia puffed up. "Dudley. He's our treasure."

"He looks very strong," Hermione murmured, nodding. "He's a sports star, I imagine?"

"Boxing," Petunia said, nodding. "We've very proud of him."

"How charming." Hermione offered her a smile, and Petunia smiled back.

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Down to business," she said, straightening.

"Ah, of course." Petunia put her tea cup down.

"My name is Hermione Granger," Hermione said, oddly loudly. She extended her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dursley."

"Petunia Dursley," Petunia said, shaking her hand with a twisted smile. "You said Marge recommended me?"

"Yes – she said she'd thought you benefit from our new face mask!" Hermione lied, reaching into her bag for a catalog. There was a loud thump from up the stairs, and Hermione paused.

Petunia's face had flushed. "Just Dudley," she said, shaking her head. "He does so like to play!"

"Of course." Hermione gave her a smile.

Hermione went through a sales pitch, talking about Avon and their new products, most of which she knew nothing about. She knew enough, though, to make it sound legitimate, and she had the catalogs to seem like a real agent. She gave Petunia a small eyeshadow palette as her "free gift" (it wasn't even an Avon product – she'd gotten if off the clearance rack at a drug store), and Petunia seemed happy enough.

About half an hour later, Hermione let an embarrassed expression cross her face.

"Ah, I'm afraid your tea has gone right through me," she said, standing. "Might I use your restroom? I'll just leave these catalogs here for you to look through."

Petunia looked alarmed at this, conflict crashing in her eyes.

"It's upstairs and to the left," she said finally. "Dudley might be watching TV and playing very loudly, though. Just ignore him – he's a growing boy."

"Of course," Hermione said amicably. She headed up the stairs, an eye on Petunia as she poured over the catalogs. Once she was confident that Petunia was _not_ following her up the stairs, she quickly darted to the right, to where she had heard the thump from.

Around the bend, she found door with a large lock on it and a cat flap. There was an empty plate outside of the cat flap, and Hermione's heart sank as she darted to the door, falling to her knees.

"Harry? Harry!" she hissed, pushing the flap open.

"Hermione?"

Harry's face appeared along the ground, and Hermione gasped.

"They've locked you in?" she asked, aghast.

"They don't let me out," Harry told her bleakly. "They never plan on letting me out. Ever. Not even to go back to Hogwarts."

Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

"Don't worry," she told him. "I'll get you out of here."

"Don't!" Harry begged. "You can't use magic – I've already gotten a warning letter about it. I don't want to be expelled!"

Hermione paused, then nodded.

"I'll come back tonight," she told him decisively. "Be ready to go."

Hermione didn't give him a chance to answer, just hurrying to the other end of the hall to flush the toilet and wash her hands, before going back down the stairs.

"That's much better," she said, giving Petunia what she thought of as an adult smile. "Now, have you found anything you like, Mrs. Dursley?"

To her surprise, she had, and Hermione filled out an actual order form for Petunia right there. She took her payment check and handed her a receipt automatically.

"Your purchases should arrive in a few short weeks," she told her. "Thank you so much for your time! I just know you'll be pleased with what you've bought."

Petunia said something meaningless back, while Hermione was still internally boggled. She wasn't even quite sure what to _do_ with an actual order – her mother had been handling the Muggle side of being an Avon representative for her while she was at school.

After Hermione had left and Petunia had closed the door behind her, Hermione darted behind the large bushes quickly, kicking off her shoes. She pulled off her dress to reveal a black shirt, and she hurriedly wiggled into her black denims. Hopefully in the setting summer sun, no one would be able to see her in the shadows.

She was just tying her trainers and shoving her dress into her bag when a large boy waddled up the walk, whistling. Hermione recognized him immediately as the boy from the pictures, and she scowled. No wonder Harry was so skinny – Dudley was clearly eating _his_ food, too.

Dudley went into the house, and Hermione sat for a long moment, considering her options. She snuck around the back of the house, looking around. Once the sun had set a bit more, she carefully pulled on her power, the air elemental inside her leaping up with glee. She carefully flew herself up the side of the house, banging into the wall repeatedly – it was still very hard to go just _up._

To her horror, Harry's window had _bars_.

"This is barbaric!" Hermione exclaimed, and Harry came running to the window.

"Hermione!" he said. He paused. "…are you flying?"

Hermione abruptly realized that this could be very bad.

"Yes, of course," she said, angling her feet out of sight. "How else would I get up here? I borrowed a broomstick."

Harry looked quizzical.

"I thought you hated flying," he said.

"Oh, Harry!" she said. "I'm not going to let a little thing like not liking broomsticks stop me from helping my friend!"

She examined the bars in the window, being careful to keep her feet from Harry's view, far below the window. Let him think she was standing on a hovering broomstick. She almost wished she _was_ – she was proud she was actually managing to _hover_ , but she kept jerking around a bit erratically.

Hermione sighed. At least it'd be consistent with her image of being bad at broomstick-riding.

"I'm going to go get backup," Hermione said finally. "I'll be back later. Be ready to leave tonight."

The hope on Harry's face broke her heart, and Hermione gave him a determined smile as she lowered herself to the ground – falling the last six feet and crashing against the wall.

"Ow!"

With a sigh, Hermione hurried around the house, walked two blocks away, and threw out her wand hand. A moment later, a large purple bus appeared with a **BANG** , swerved around a car, and stopped short.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus!" the conductor announced. "Transportation for the- hey, weren't you on here earlier?"

"I was," Hermione said, mounting the stairs of the bus. "I need another ride."

"Alright," the conductor said amicably. "It's another fare, though. Where you wanna go?"

"Ottery St. Catchpole." Hermione sighed. "I need to go to the Burrow."


	73. Plotting -- Weasley Twins' style

Hermione, unlike many of her peers, had a healthy respect for most grown-ups. If nothing else, grown-ups were more powerful than her, and they could get things done much easier than she could, especially in legal matters. So Hermione always considered the "ask an adult" option when a problem presented itself. She knew better than to get in over her head without knowing exactly what she was diving into, and having an adult deal with complicated, tangled matters was far more efficient than attempting to do it herself.

And with Harry locked up like he was, the situation so much worse than she had ever expected, "ask an adult for help" seemed to be the fastest way to get Harry _out._

So when Hermione knocked on the door of the Burrow, she was prepared to meet the Weasley parents. She knew from Ron that his father worked at the Ministry, and she hoped that Ron (or one of the twins) would be willing to introduce her. From there, she could tell Mr. Weasley what the Muggles had done to Harry, and they could figure out a plan of action of how to get him removed from the household immediately - she didn't think the Ministry would be _okay_ with the Boy-Who-Lived being locked up like a caged zoo exhibit for sadistic muggles.

What happened _instead_ was one of the twins throwing open the door, staring at Hermione, and then grabbing her and abruptly yanking her inside.

"Wha-?!"

Her yelp was abruptly cut off by the twin's hand covering her mouth. She glared at him, but he hurried up the stairs, half-dragging her, where the other twin was waiting and staring at her.

"Who is it, Fred?" a woman called.

"No one, Mum!" the other twin called. "Must have been a prank or a gnome!"

The woman muttered something, but Hermione couldn't make out what she said as the twins had grabbed her and dragged her up the stairs. Before she knew it, she'd been pushed into a room and onto a bed, and one of the twins had vanished, only to return a moment later with Ron, whose eyes grew wide.

"Hermione-?"

"Ron," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow and looking up at him. "Lovely to see you again."

The sarcasm was heavy in her tone, and Ron scowled.

"What're you doing here?" he demanded. "I didn't invite _you_."

"Lovely decorations," Hermione commented, deliberately ignoring Ron as she looked around, nonplussed. "I presume this is the twins' room...?"

"Yes, yes, it's all lovely, we're pleased to have you," Fred said. "Now: pleasantries aside – you're here because of Harry, aren't you?"

Hermione was surprised to see anxious and concerned looks on all their faces, and she nodded slowly.

"I- I hadn't gotten letters from Harry for a while, so I went over to go and check on him, posing as a Muggle," she told them.

The twins nodded, looking impressed.

"Smart. Collect the information-"

"-without them knowing you're after it."

"Very Slytherin," they chorused, their eyes pinned to her. Hermione felt uncomfortable.

"And?" Ron asked, his voice worried. "Did you find Harry?"

"I did." Hermione bit her lip. "It- it's _awful_. They've got him locked up in his room with a giant lock and bolt on the outside. They've been passing him food through a cat flap in the door. There are even _bars_ in his window, so he can't escape. I don't even know what he _does_ to go to the bathroom. But they've made his room into a prison, and they don't plan on _ever_ letting him out!"

The boys all gasped.

"We need to do something," Fred said decisively. "We'll do it tonight."

"We'll break him out," George said. He looked at Hermione. "We were afraid we'd have to do something like this."

"He hasn't responded to any of my letters," Ron complained. "At first, I was just peeved, but then he kept not responding. It's not very Harry-like, is it? I must have invited him to come stay half a dozen times…"

Hermione blinked.

"Harry never got your letters," she told him. "He said no one except me was writing to him. He was rather peeved about it, actually."

Ron looked surprised.

"How come he got your letters, and not mine?" he wanted to know.

Hermione considered.

"I sent mine through the Muggle post," she told him. "If someone was stopping Harry's mail, they might have only thought to stop the owls coming through."

Fred and George exchanged a dark look.

"We have to save him," Fred said decisively.

"We'll rescue him," George added. "However necessary."

" _Rescue him?"_ Hermione objected. "I'd thought- we could tell your father, and he could have Harry removed-"

"Dad's not likely to have that kind of clout at the Ministry," George said, cutting her off. "Sure, he could file an appeal, but it'd take _ages_ to get up to someone who really mattered."

"And in that time, Harry could starve to death," Fred said pleasantly. "It's practically our moral obligation to rescue him, you know."

Hermione bit her lip. She'd planned on going through the Ministry channels, but… if they could just _rescue_ him, it's not like the Muggles would really _object_ , was it?

"We'll have to do it tonight," Hermione told them. "It's _awful_ _,_ what they're doing to him, and I told him I'd go back for him."

"Then," Fred intoned gravely, "we will need to _plot._ "

Plotting was apparently A Thing™ with the Weasley twins, and there was a bit of a ritual involved.

First, the twins hung a sign on their door and firmly locked it, with no fewer than five different locks and bolts. Next, they draped a gauzy cloth across the doorway that Hermione suspected was enchanted with anti-eavesdropping spells. Lastly, they all sat on the bed in a circle, legs folded under them. Ron sat in the circle too, and to her surprise, Hermione was dragged in as well, made to fold her legs and sit on the far edge of the bed nearest Fred. It was clear she'd somehow become part of the scheme without meaning to. Ron appeared to have forgiven her for her part in him getting detention at the end of the previous year in the light of them joining together to save Harry. Hermione wondered if it was easier for him to forget she was in Slytherin when she wasn't wearing a green tie.

They all sat on the bed, brainstorming, trying to think of ways to save Harry.

The brainstorming was _ridiculous._ The insight into the Gryffindor mindset was as amusing as it was alarming - their plans all seemed to be very direct, aggressive, and fearless. The boys seemed convinced the best way to save Harry would be to charge into the house, duel the Muggles, and break him out. The twins were determined that Harry's aunt and uncle needed to pay for what they had done to Harry, and their eyes were fierce as they ominously described all the horrors they would inflict upon the hapless Muggles. Ron was flourishing his own wand, declaring how he'd dodge Harry's cousin's dangerous metal Muggle wand while hitting him with a Leg-Locker Curse before disarming him, and it took Hermione a solid moment to mentally translate that and catch up.

"I don't think Dudley Dursley will have a gun," Hermione said finally. "Guns aren't common amongst Muggles in England. Especially not among twelve year-olds."

"Even easier, then!" Ron declared. "I'll be able to take him down, no problem!"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose.

"We can't just go in, wands blazing," she said loudly. "It's a _Muggle_ neighborhood – the Ministry would be alerted of any magic use, and they'd catch us for being underage and out of school. We need to rescue him _without_ the Muggles realizing."

The twins froze and straightened.

"You mean, like a covert ops mission," George said, his voice a whisper.

"Like we're _spies,_ " Fred added, his eyes flashing.

Hermione stared at them.

"…yes," she said finally. "Like we're spies. In and out, without anyone knowing."

Declaring that they had to rescue Harry as a spy mission seemed to do the trick, setting the twins' imaginations alight, and they started brainstorming ways to rescue Harry without anyone knowing. The idea generation went on for a while as they considered idea after idea, each dismissed as either too dangerous or too risky. At one point, Hermione suggested they go on broomstick with an acetylene torch to cut through the bars on Harry's window and then escape with Harry on broomstick, but Ron shot that one down.

"We'll have to carry all Harry's stuff with us, and you can't carry a trunk on a broomstick without shrinking it down," Ron pointed out. "Plus, we might be seen – broomsticks aren't invisible to Muggles."

"What's an _acetylene torch_?" Fred wanted to know. "It cuts through metal?"

"Flying's a good idea, though," Ron mused. He looked thoughtful. He turned to his brothers. "We could take the car, if one of us could drive it. We could use rope and just pull the bars out."

"A car?" Hermione said. "It'd take us all night to get there. The Knight Bus would be faster."

"The car flies," Fred explained brightly. "Dad enchanted it."

Hermione stared at him. "…I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

George shrugged.

"Then we don't get caught," he said, eyes dancing. "Isn't that the unofficial Slytherin motto or something?"

It was, actually - it was Unofficial House Rule #2, and one of the first things she had learned in Slytherin.

Hermione flushed, and the twins laughed.

"That could work, but we'd need to leave soon," Fred said. "If we left as soon as Mum and Dad went to bed, we could rescue Harry and be back by morning. And then it would just be, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'd be so pleased to see Harry she wouldn't ask questions about how he'd arrived."

Hermione stared.

"Your mother," she said, incredulous, "would be _that_ laid-back about a _child_ abruptly appearing at her house?"

"Well, it'd be _Harry_." Ron shrugged. "Mum likes Harry. I wrote to him ages ago to invite him over, but never got an answer."

"So it's at least _plausible_ that the Muggles would have let him come over," Fred pointed out. "Maybe they sent him in the dead of night."

"Less traffic that way," George said, nodding wisely. "Less risk of Harry getting run over by vehicles and velocipedes."

That was definitely _not_ how traffic worked... but now really wasn't the time to address _that_ mess of Muggle misunderstanding. Hermione but her lip, mentally reviewing the plan.

Flying to Harry's in the dead of night in an illegal, invisible car seemed ill-advised, but it could _work_ \- _and_ they could escape with Harry, tucked away in the back seat. If they didn't get caught by the authorities, there wouldn't be a problem, and Harry would be free, and if the car really could turn invisible, that risk seemed minimal. They were _much_ more likely to be caught by the Weasley parents upon their return, but Hermione wasn't about to point that out - _she_ wouldn't have to suffer their displeasure, really, and Harry would be free by then.

Hermione sat up and squared her shoulders, decision made.

"When do we leave?" she asked. Her eyes were determined.

The twins' faces split into identical grins, and George crept silently out of the room, returning a few moments later, excitement dancing in his eyes.

"Now," he told them. "Let's go."


	74. Rescue from Privet Drive

**CW: Mention of teenage sexuality**

* * *

The car was an old Ford Anglia, and Hermione stared.

"We'll have to cram in the back, once we get Harry, unless someone wants to ride in the boot," she commented.

Fred shrugged. "Does it matter?"

It didn't, really, and she piled in with the rest of them. Fred started the car, hit the Invisibility Booster, hit something else, and the car lifted into the air.

The ride was jerky and somewhat erratic, but the car dutifully drove up high into the sky. Hermione pointed out the most direct way to Privet Drive, and Fred took off in that direction, the car sputtering a bit and dipping for a moment before smoothing out. Hermione kept her door unlocked in case the car's flight failed and she needed to bail - she'd face better chances in gliding or flying down herself than she would trapped in a car plummeting out of the sky to certain doom.

The journey was surprisingly fun, though. The Weasley twins didn't seem to give a damn that she was in Slytherin, and they let her know it, to Ron's consternation.

"Anyone who shows up a Malfoy is okay in our books," George told her cheerfully. "Everyone heard how you beat his marks."

Hermione flushed. She was glad she'd come in first in her year, but it hadn't been like she'd been purposefully _trying_ to show up Draco.

"All Slytherins can't be bad," Fred said. "We have some good ones in Gryffindor, but some real drips as well. Figures that Slytherin has some baby Death Eaters but has some normal kids as well."

Hermione didn't know _where_ to even begin addressing that, so she stayed silent. The twins began to chatter about their plans for pranks the next year – a large amount focusing on Professor Snape. As funny as it might be to think of talking bottles of shampoo following her head of house around, Hermione felt traitorous laughing, and she felt compelled to speak up.

"I'd _really_ advise against that," she said. "Of all the teachers, Professor Snape is the most likely to take it personally and seek revenge. He'd make the rest of your Hogwarts years miserable."

George raised an eyebrow at her. "You think? He's still a teacher – you think he'd go after a couple of students?"

"Teacher or not, he's still a Slytherin," Hermione pointed out. "You'd be better off targeting the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor – at least that way, you know they'll be gone after a year, so their revenge can't last all that long."

The twins considered, and then grinned.

"Why not?" the chorused, and they began murmuring about new potential prank ideas.

The rest of the drive passed rapidly, and Hermione saw Privet Drive approaching.

"There!" she hissed, pointing down. "That's his house. Pull into the back!"

Ron rolled his window down as Fred carefully moved the car level with Harry's window. Hermione dug in her pack.

"Harry! Harry!"

"Ron! Ron, how did you- what the-?"

Hermione let out a breath of relief – Harry was still okay.

"All right, Harry?" George asked.

"Hermione said you didn't get my letters," Ron said. "Is that true?"

" _Hermione_ is with you? Yeah – a House Elf was stopping all my mail. But what is-"

"We will catch up later," Hermione announced firmly. "Ron, take this, and wedge it into the bars."

She handed him a very small grappling hook. Ron stared at it, but he handed it to Harry, who took it through the bars.

"Tap it with your wand, Harry," she told him. "It's removing a spell, not casting one – it won't ping on the Ministry's system as magic."

Harry dutifully tapped it, and he suppressed a yelp as the grappling hook resized itself, wedging itself firmly into the bars.

"Here," she said, handing the rope to Fred and George, who tightened their hands on it. "Go."

Revving the car, Fred drove the car straight up, and with a loud crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window. Ron laughed in triumph, and Hermione could see Harry at the window, looking up at them in awe.

"Pull that in," Hermione told Ron, and Ron shot her an annoyed look but listened, hoisting the bars into the back seat.

"Pop the boot open," Hermione instructed Fred. "We'll need the room for his trunk."

"The boot?"

"Oh, honestly!"

Hermione climbed into the front seat, almost sitting on George's lap, and reached over, pulling the release. The boot popped open, and she gave Fred a smug look. Fred looked surprised.

"I don't think I knew that was there," he told her. "Neat!"

He backed the car up to the window, and Harry pushed out his trunk and into the boot of the car. Once it was firmly stored, Harry closed the boot as quietly as he could, but it still made a distinctive **clunk** as it shut, and Harry froze.

"I can hear Uncle Vernon!" he hissed.

"Then we'll hurry," Ron said. "Fred, turn the car!"

The car turned to line up a back door with Harry's window. Harry passed Hedwig's cage through to Ron, before carefully climbing into the window and perching on the sill, looking unsure. Hermione felt a bolt of fear, imagining Harry slipping and falling two stories into the bushes below.

"Come on!" Ron urged, holding out his hand, and with a deep breath, Harry took it, leaping into the car.

He managed to get in about halfway, scrambling and climbing into the car the rest of the way, Ron pulling him, and Ron crowed in triumph once Harry was safely in, Harry laughing in relief.

"We did it!"

"We did it!"

"We're being too loud," Hermione said urgently. "Fred, we need to get out of here, stat!"

Fred revved the engine and hit the Invisibility Booster again, and the car took off into the sky. Harry was laughing, Ron was grinning, and the twins were cheering. Seeing Harry's expression of relief, even Hermione managed a smile.

"You did it!" Harry said. "I about fell over when I heard you in the house today, Hermione. How did you manage to get Aunt Petunia to let you in?"

"You were in Harry's _house?_ " Ron said, goggling.

"I _told_ you that," Hermione said, shooting an indignant look at Ron. "I posed as an Avon lady," she told Harry. "I wore my mother's clothes and too much makeup. I said your Aunt Marge recommended Aunt Petunia to me, to make her think I was legitimate."

"How did you know about Aunt Marge?" Harry said, baffled.

"Oh, _honestly,_ Harry," Hermione said with a sigh. "Do you think no one listens when you talk? You mentioned her and her dogs to Hagrid, when he was talking about Fang before."

Harry looked surprised that someone would remember something he'd mentioned months ago. Ron was giving Hermione a suspicious look, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Do you just remember everything?" Ron asked. His voice wasn't quite demanding, but it was close.

"Do you just forget everything as a default?" Hermione shot back, and the twins laughed.

"Oh, we like you, Miss Slytherin," Fred declared, spinning the wheel as he recognized a landmark. "You've got moxie."

"We're keeping you," George said, grinning down at her.

"We are _not_ ," Ron objected, outraged. "She helped rescue Harry. That's _it._ "

"Nuh-uh," the twins chorused. Fred shot a jaunty grin backwards at Ron, and George pulled Hermione closer, arms wrapped around her waist as he smirked at Ron. "Finders keepers."

"I would hardly say you _found_ me," Hermione objected. "I came knocking at your door."

"Well, we have you now," George said reasonably. His eyes sparkled. "And isn't possession nine-tenths of the law?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Harry looked confused but happy.

"Hermione came to your _house?_ " he asked Ron. "What happened?"

"Yeah! She showed up and told us what the awful Muggles were doing to you. We came up with a daring escape plan-"

Ron detailed all their previous plans to Harry, who listened with a grin. Hermione smiled softly, relieved just to see that her friend was okay. She shifted slightly, provoking a grunt from George, before she stopped.

She'd dived into the front seat to help pop the trunk open, and had then been awkwardly sitting on the center glove box while they saved Harry. George had pulled her into his lap to fluster Ron, and she'd just kind of let him. But that now meant she was sitting on his lap… and his arms will still around her waist.

Hermione turned and looked down at George, who was grinning up at her.

"I can fit in the backseat in the middle, if you let me go," she told him primly.

"Nothing doing," George said jauntily. "I caught you…" He squeezed his arms a bit tighter. "…so now you're mine."

"This is entirely inappropriate," Hermione told him, giving him a dark look.

"Oh?" George's eyes were wide and innocent. "Did you think I was an appropriate sort of fellow?"

Scowling, Hermione set about freeing herself from George's arms, grabbing one and slowly pulling it off herself, only to have George clutch her tighter with the other one. She huffed and tried to hold one open while prying the other off but found she couldn't – his arm would escape and wrap back around her. She squirmed, trying to wriggle out from his arms overtop of them, but _that_ didn't work either – it only got George grabbing onto her in a more uncomfortable way. Fred was laughing as Hermione fought to free herself, and eventually she gave up with a huff, sliding back into George's lap and shifting around slightly, trying to find her balance.

"What are you doing now?"

"Getting comfortable," she informed him. "If I'm doomed to staying here, I'm going to make sure it's at least an enjoyable ride."

"Is _that_ what you were doing?" George's voice was lower, unheard by Ron and Harry in the back seat, who were discussing something about a House Elf. "I thought you were being entirely inappropriate with me."

"By trying to _escape?_ " Hermione said incredulous.

"By trying to seduce me."

Hermione whirled around, shifting to stare at him. His eyes were dark, and there was a sort of glint in them there wasn't before.

"How, pray tell-" Hermione began.

"You have been squirming in my lap and grinding your bottom into my parts for several minutes now," George told her pleasantly, but his eyes were still dark, his pupils blown out. "Generally, when a lady grinds her hips into your bits, it's an indication she's ready to be entirely inappropriate."

Hermione stared at him. She had no idea what to say.

"I- you-"

George waved a hand, cutting her off. "I'm not saying I think you're propositioning me," he said. "It's more a warning – you keep at that, and you're likely to feel something you didn't intend to feel."

Hermione's face colored.

"If you just _let me go_ , this wouldn't be an issue," she hissed.

George smirked, and Fred laughed.

"I reckon it's not an issue for him," Fred said, shooting her a grin. "Sitting with a pretty bird on his lap? That sounds like a good time. He's mentioning it for your comfort, Miss Slytherin. I doubt they do much fooling around down in the dungeons. Too scandalous."

"I'm _twelve_ ," Hermione said, horror in her voice.

"Yeah? We're fourteen," George said, shrugging. "So?"

"So… that's very young," Hermione said, faltering.

"Old enough," Fred said. "Mind you, it'd be a bit different if you were sitting on, say, Bill's lap, and you got a reaction. But a teenage boy liking a pretty girl on his lap, who's not very much younger than him?"

"That sounds pretty normal to me," George agreed.

Hermione stared at them. She felt lost.

"Who's Bill?"

"Bill's our oldest brother," Fred told her. "Professional Cursebreaker for Gringotts."

"Ah," Hermione said. "I see."

She lapsed into silence, then, letting the twins join in the conversation with Ron and Harry – apparently, a House Elf had attacked Harry's family with a cake of some sort. She let the chatter wash over her as she relaxed in George's hold, putting her head on his shoulder after a while, almost dozing with her thoughts.

It made sense, Hermione supposed. It was roughly the same in the Muggle world. Some girls in her year at Muggle school would undoubtedly have boyfriends by now, and some of them would be a little older than them. She'd heard of the older boys at schools dating younger girls, which made sense; guys matured later and got interested in girls after the girls had matured. Fourteen to twelve wasn't a large gap, now that she considered it. Especially because she was only two months from being thirteen.

She didn't feel interested in that sort of thing yet, though, she reflected. She liked it when Anthony and Blaise flirted with her, but she enjoyed the attention and liked to look at them – it wasn't a _serious_ sort of interest, not yet. She wondered why she was maturing later than the others – Pansy and Daphne had already seemed interested in boys at the _start_ of last year. And Hermione had just felt uncomfortable at the thought of George being interested in her in that way.

At least he hadn't been serious. From what she understood about male puberty, _any_ girl around his age sitting in his lap would be enough to provoke a reaction.

She was jolted from her thoughts by the car touching down outside the house. Dawn was just beginning to creep over the horizon. She clambered out of the car with the others, George helping set her down on the ground with a wink. Harry dragged her grappling hook out of the car with him, still caught in the window bars, and Hermione discreetly shrunk it and shoved the whole thing in her bag.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car."

Hermione wondered what _she_ was expected to do. Hide in the twins' room until there was a chance for a quick escape?

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the– at the top-"

Ron's pallor had changed, his eyes staring behind the others. They whirled around.

A short, plump woman who could only be Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, her face one of fury.

" _Ah_ , _"_ said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Hermione winced, and the yelling began.


	75. The Burrow

Mrs. Weasley yelled what seemed like hours, but it was actually only a quarter of an hour or so, judging by Hermione's watch. Hermione and Harry stood there awkwardly, exchanging glances, while Mrs. Weasley hollered at her sons. She kept going – _beds empty, no note, car gone, never had trouble like this before_ – and whenever one of her sons tried to defend himself, Mrs. Weasley would seem to gain steam and start in again, and the objecting son would cower.

By the time it was over, Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse. She turned to Harry and Hermione, both of whom took an instinctive step back.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."

Harry looked incredibly relieved and scampered after Ron. Mrs. Weasley stood in the yard looking at Hermione, who looked back at her.

"You must be Hermione," she said finally.

There was a note in her tone Hermione didn't like, and Hermione drew herself up, folding her arms.

"I am," she said, holding her chin up.

Mrs. Weasley regarded her for another long moment, before giving a long sigh.

"You might as well come in," she said. "There's enough breakfast for everyone."

She turned and went back into the house. Hermione glanced at the twins, who nodded encouragingly, and, without a better option available, followed Mrs. Weasley into the house.

The house was nothing like what Hermione would have expected a Pureblood house to look. The clock on the opposite wall spun more like a compass, pointing to things like _Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens,_ and _You're late._ There were assorted spellbooks around the house haphazardly, but they were ones like _Charm Your Own Cheese_. The ceilings in the house seemed kind of low, and if she wasn't mistaken, there was a broom sweeping the entry way on its own.

It was quaint and charming, and nothing like what Hermione had imagined a magical household to be like. She'd been expecting grand manors, really, but upon reflection, the inside of the Burrow looked exactly like the outside – odd, quirky, obviously magical, but not without its own homey charm. Perhaps her expectations had been overly influenced from the descriptions she'd heard from her Slytherin classmates, bragging about their own grand stately homes all the time.

"Your home is lovely, Mrs. Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley turned from her place at the frying pan and raised an eyebrow, her face tightening.

"Don't you give me that," she said, her voice angry.

"No! I'm being sincere!" Hermione said quickly, holding her hands up to appease her. "Honestly. I've never been in a magical household before, and this is lovely. Everything is so warm and happy here. It's as if the love your family has permeates the entire place."

"Oh." Mrs. Weasley's face softened at that, her cheeks reddening. "Well, thank you, then."

She brought over a veritable feast of eggs, sausages, and bacon, and everyone began to eat. Chatter focused around Harry and his adventure with the House Elf, which Hermione found odd. The House Elf itself sounded odd – and did all elves have names like _Dobby?_ She was disturbed by Harry's account of the elf punishing itself. None of the Hogwarts elves had ever done anything like that that she had seen or heard of. Were privately-owned elves _abused?_

Conversation turned away from Harry, who looked grateful for the chance to stop talking and eat his food, and settled onto Hermione instead.

"I thought you were in Slytherin, Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "How is it you've never been in a magical household?"

Her casual question somehow sounded like a challenge. Hermione swallowed her eggs.

"I _am_ in Slytherin," she told her. "And my parents are muggles."

Mrs. Weasley looked politely confused.

"You're presuming all Slytherins have magical parents," Hermione said, her tone patient. "While most people in Slytherin are purebloods, not all of them are."

Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows raised.

"Well, you must be having a rough go of it," she said, but her tone didn't seem quite as sympathetic as her words. "A Muggle-born in Slytherin..."

"I manage just fine," Hermione said, stabbing her eggs with her fork. "Slytherin is the house of the ambitious, and it was the best fit for me."

"Still," Mrs. Weasley said, giving her a condescending smile. "Slytherin is notorious for its emphasis on blood purity. I can't imagine someone of your... _parentage,_ being well-accepted there."

"I'm well aware of it, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said sharply. "I was captured and tortured last year for my dirty blood by my own house mates. I know _exactly_ how important blood purity is in Slytherin."

Mrs. Weasley froze.

…as did Harry, Ron, Fred, and George.

A table full of large eyes turned to her, staring, and Hermione winced.

"…I'd ask you to please not repeat that to anyone," Hermione said quietly. "Slytherin in-fighting is kept strictly within the house. If others found out I told anyone…"

"If they bully you for just not being pureblood…" Fred said, looking ill.

"…it would probably be very bad," George said, greenish.

Hermione nodded, shuddering as she remembered that night, helpless on the floor, cutting charms slicing through her skin.

" _Very_ bad," she agreed.

There was a heavy silence as Mrs. Weasley bustled around, finally sliding into her own chair.

"Well!" she said. "We Weasleys certainly know how to keep secrets. Right, boys?"

The glare she fixed her sons with was piercing, and all three of them cowered.

"Right," Ron said quickly. "We won't tell a soul."

"We won't even tell things _without_ a soul," Fred added.

"Not a word to anyone or anything," George said, nodding. "Not even the dinner plates."

"Or the walls-"

"Or the chairs-"

"Or the beds-"

Mrs. Weasley shot the twins a sharp look, and they stopped, acting like they had been calmly eating their breakfast the entire time, before Fred struck up a conversation with Ron about Quidditch. It was painfully obvious that it was a topic change, but the entire mood in the room seemed to relax as a result.

Hermione relaxed and returned to her plate, only to find Harry glaring at her, having moved his chair right up next to hers.

"You were _tortured?_ " he hissed. "How come you never _told_ me?"

His green eyes looked betrayed, and Hermione bit her lip.

"There wasn't anything you could do," she told him quietly. "It would have just made you mad, and I was worried you might run off and do something foolish and get yourself in trouble."

Harry frowned.

"Why would you have thought that?" he asked, looking at her sideways. "Why would you think I would want to do something? I might gripe, but it's not like I openly object to other people's punishments."

Hermione winced, and Harry's green eyes seemed to catch fire, growing the color of acid, almost radioactive.

"They weren't punished, were they," Harry breathed.

It was not a question.

"No," Hermione admitted. "They were not."

Harry remained very quiet for a long moment. Hermione sat very still.

"We are not done talking about this, Hermione," he told her finally. "But not here. Not now."

Hermione let out a breath of air she hadn't realized she had been holding. She looked away from Harry, refocusing on the table at large.

"We'll go in a week or two," Mrs. Weasley was saying. "I know Ginny is excited to get her wand."

"Why can't we go _now_?" Ron whined. "There's a new Nimbus model out I want to see, and surely it's better to beat the back-to-school rush?"

"We're _part_ of that rush, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley said in exasperation. "And you haven't even gotten your school letters yet. How do you expect us to go shopping if you haven't gotten your booklist yet?"

Ron blinked. "Oh."

" _Oh_ ," Fred imitated, blinking stupidly.

" _Oh,"_ George said in a falsetto, crossing his eyes as he blinked, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh. Ron glared at his brothers, who got up from the table.

" _Blimey_ , I'm tired," yawned Fred. "I think I'll go to bed and–"

"You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again–"

"Oh, Mum–"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and George. "You two can go up to bed," she added to Harry and Hermione. "Hermione, Ginny's room is the one on the third floor with the sign. Harry–"

"I'll help Ron," Harry said quickly. "I've never seen a de-gnoming."

"I'm just going to head home, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, standing. "My parents are expecting me back at some point this morning, and I still have loads of homework to finish before the school year starts."

Harry choked, and Hermione's eyes darted to him in alarm until she realized he was trying not to laugh. Hermione's cheeks colored at the obviousness of her lie, but Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to notice.

"Very responsible of you," she said, nodding. "Well, the boys can walk you out to the street. You took the Knight Bus, I presume?"

There was a rustle, and a quick game of "Broom, Bludger, Snitch" determined that Fred would walk Hermione to the road while the others went around back to start on the de-gnoming. Fred looked very satisfied by this outcome, while Ron looked sulky. Hermione suspected he really didn't want to de-gnome the garden; it wasn't like Ron actually enjoyed her company.

Hermione grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, wincing slightly at the weight. She said her good-byes, and she and Fred set off.

The Burrow was set back quite far from the road, Hermione noticed. She supposed when one didn't drive a car normally, such a long drive didn't really matter. Apparition and the Floo Network made such things moot.

"You're a good planner," Fred remarked casually, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "That plan to rescue Harry was well done. We worked well together."

Hermione looked up at him.

"…I didn't plan anything," she said. "That was you all. Suggesting the magic car, the rope."

"You were the one who cased the place beforehand. You were also the one who suggested a covert mission," Fred pointed out. "You also just _happened_ to have a grappling hook on hand. A _grappling hook._ "

Hermione didn't really have a response for that. She'd brought her entire dungeoneering pack, after all, not knowing _what_ she might need.

"…and?" she said finally, looking at the weeds growing between the road and the Weasley's drive.

"Planning that sort of plan is a skill that most people don't have," Fred told her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him. His face broke into a small grin, and his eyes sparkled.

"That's the sort of planning ingenuity it takes," he said, "to be a brilliant prankster."

Hermione laughed.

"I'm a _Slytherin_ , remember Fred?" she told him, batting away his hand. "As I remember it, you prank Slytherins almost _exclusively_. And I'm not about to get into a prank war with you."

Fred shrugged, uncaring. "Maybe George and I should move on to new targets, then."

Hermione threw out her wand hand, and with a loud **_BANG_** the Knight Bus appeared. She shifted her bag over her shoulder, suddenly feeling the full depth of her fatigue, and Fred steadied her as she climbed onto the bus.

"Just think about it, Granger!" he called after her, waving with a grin. "We could do great things together!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, turning to the conductor, who looked at her quizzically.

"Don't I know you?" he said.

Hermione ignored his query. She gave him her address, then paused.

"No hurry," she said, handing over her sickles. "Actually, I can get there last. I'd like to get one of the beds, please."


	76. The Regeneration Rate

Napping for an hour and a half on the Knight Bus made a world of difference. With some rest, Hermione was able to mind her temper and her emotions much better; she knew she'd been irritable and not very well-behaved at the Weasley's, and she was somewhat embarrassed by the fact. She wasn't proud of snapping at Mrs. Weasley and letting a secret slip in her anger; it was very unbecoming of a Slytherin, to be so careless.

And with a brief nap, Hermione was able to fake being well-rested and fully-functional in front of her parents, who wanted to know all about her sleep-over. Hermione could tell they were fishing, so she was careful with her words.

"Harry's cousin is horrible," she told them honestly. "He used to beat up Harry all the time. Harry's made to do all the chores there, while his cousin is terribly spoiled. I'm worried Harry's even getting enough food."

Her parents looked alarmed at this.

"This doesn't sound like a good place for a child," her mother said, her eyes with concern. Hermione… is Harry being abused?"

Hermione bit her lip, considering.

"Not anymore," she said honestly. "I think he used to be, maybe? At least somewhat?"

Her parents looked horrified by that answer.

"The problem is they're Harry's last remaining family," Hermione hurried on to explain. "And Harry's well-known in the wizarding world. He probably has to stay there for protection – if whoever put him there had any sense, they'd have drawn up blood wards around the property to help protect him."

"Like the one we did?" he father asked.

Hermione nodded. "Right. And as Harry gets older, that probably won't matter as much, as he'll be better able to protect himself. But until then…" She trailed off. "It's just not a good situation for anybody."

Hermione's mother's eyes were suspiciously shiny.

"I hate to hear that a child is being abused," she said. "Are you sure we can't call Child Protective Services?"

Hermione took a moment to imagine what would happen, before shuddering violently.

"If they took Harry and his family in, the Ministry of Magic would find out," Hermione said with conviction. "I have no doubt that the Ministry barge in and do something foolish to try and rescue Harry - possibly risking the lives of anyone in the police department or with Child Protective Services. I don't think they'd actually make an effort to have him adopted - he's too special, to wizards - so they might still do something horrid with him, like throw him in a magical orphanage or make him a ward of the state."

"Are you sure that's worse than his current situation?" her father asked gently. "Hermione, Harry sounds like he needs help."

Hermione tilted her chin up, defiant.

"And I helped him," she said. "As of today, Harry's escaped, and he's going to stay at Ron's house for the rest of the break. I spent the night helping coordinate the plan and making sure the Weasleys knew where to go to get him."

Her parents looked surprised. They exchanged a glance, but Hermione could see their instinctive urge to discipline her was warring with their pride.

"Escaped?" her mother echoed.

"You helped him _escape?_ " her father echoed.

"Yes. This way, Harry will still be protected, in a magical household," Hermione added. "And he's been there enough of the summer that whatever protection his relatives' blood wards can provide him has probably renewed."

Her mother gave her a pointed look.

"Hermione, if there's a problem with his family, the correct response isn't to help your friend _run away from home_..."

"Anything else would have taken too long," Hermione said stubbornly. "I couldn't go to the Muggle police, because the Ministry would cause havoc if they found out. I couldn't go to the Ministry, either - that was my first thought, but when I investigated, it could have taken _weeks_ to get him out of there, with all the paperwork and bureaucracy nonsense necessary. And the important thing was to _help him_ , like you said. So I _did -_ he'll be safe at the Weasleys', and they'll feed him and be nice to him for the rest of the summer, at least."

Her mother sighed, while her father looked pleased.

"Well, I'm glad you rescued your friend," he told her, ruffling her hair. "Much better than hearing you were off having sex."

Hermione's face flamed. "Dad!"

Her father and mother both laughed at the expression on her face, and this time her mother gave her a genuine smile.

"I just hope his relatives aren't worried about him," she mused. "Though, it doesn't sound like they care much about what happened to him at all."

Hermione shrugged. "I can send them a letter, so they know."

Hermione spent part of her Saturday writing the Dursleys a letter, explaining Harry had gone off to stay with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer, and thanking them for their understanding and care of Harry for the first half of the summer. She wrote it entirely in third person and didn't sign it, and she sent it by Royal Mail. Let the Dursleys wonder who had come and taken Harry away; she didn't care to inform them.

The second half of the day, Hermione spent practicing flying in the backyard. If a _car_ could fly, why couldn't she? She had enough magical power now, she thought. She couldn't quite tell how fast it was growing, or if it was increasing exponentially at all, but she knew she was much stronger than she had been when Snape had first done the ritual with her.

Then again, it wasn't _power_ that seemed to be the issue, really. Hermione wasn't really having trouble getting herself into the air anymore – it was _steering_ that was the issue. Her power seemed to want to go all over the place. It was like whenever she called on it, the air elemental inside of her just wanted to be let out to dance across the skies. Which made sense, Hermione supposed. If she were an air elemental, she wouldn't want to be bound and controlled to a body. She'd want to be free and just fly…

Her father found her sleeping under a tree before supper, and Hermione awoke fairly groggy. It took a moment to remember exhausting her power reserves again. That, combined with the scant hour or so of sleep she'd stolen on the Knight Bus… it made sense that she'd dozed off, she thought.

Supper with her parents was fine, and Hermione spent the rest of the evening reading on the couch for a bit before excusing herself for bed early. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and braided her hair on autopilot, exhaustion making her mind comfortably tune out.

As she laid down, though, she automatically reached for her wand to levitate something to exhaust her power reserves, before pausing. She'd already exhausted them earlier until she literally couldn't fly anymore. Should she even bother trying, when she had nothing left?

With a sigh and a flick of her wand, not even remembering to say the incantation, Hermione tried to levitate her trunk, filled with books.

To her surprise, she felt the spell connect, and her trunk hovered in the air, steady and not wobbly at all.

A little more awake, Hermione concentrated, following the path of her power back into her as she kept the spell going. Once she found her power reserve, she was shocked to find it nearly almost full.

Almost _full!_

After she had just exhausted it just a few hours ago!

Rationally, Hermione knew that she _had_ to regenerate power somehow. She'd presumed it happened slowly, over time, like when she slept. But to regenerate it so quickly... was that _normal?_ Was that because she was constantly exercising, pushing her limits?

Hermione was relatively sure that it wasn't _normal_. She remembered how exhausting the _Ventus_ spell had been to cast during the snow ball fight after winter break, and how slowly her power had returned to her afterward.

But then... _how?_

What was a 'normal' magic regeneration rate?

She wondered as she levitated the chest, feeling her power gradually drain out of her. By the time she let the chest settle gently back down on the ground, Hermione was already half asleep, and she dozed off fully not a moment later, her wand still held in her hand, dreams full of magical theories and possibilities.


	77. The Pureblood Directory

Michael was one of the pages at Lleuwlynn and Selwyn, and he was Hermione's favorite coworker. He was young, only out of Hogwarts a couple years himself, and he was a kind if slightly awkward-looking fellow. He was tall and lanky with sandy brown hair that he wore in spikes with the tips bleached, and he had a crooked yellow smile that made Hermione wonder if he'd taken the occasional Bludger to the face.

Not only was he a Muggle-born and open about that fact, but he was very interested in learning absolutely everything he could about the wizarding world. He'd taken the job at the publishing firm as a way to have nearly unlimited access to books just so he could learn as much as he could. When he'd worn an old Ravenclaw Quidditch jersey to work one day, Hermione had felt precisely zero surprise - he was the most Ravenclaw Ravenclaw to ever Ravenclaw, in her mind.

Michael enjoyed Hermione's own enthusiasm for learning, and he treated her like an adult. Hermione loved listening and learning everything he had to tell her. Michael knew a lot about many random things, especially obscure theories of magic, and Hermione enjoyed hearing about it all whenever there was no work for her to do.

One day, when discussing the most recent wizarding war, Michael had asked her about her blood status, and Hermione had hesitated. Michael caught it and quirked his head, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Not here," she said. She dragged him deep into the stacks.

Michael went along curiously, and Hermione made him crouch down to her level.

"My blood status is… complicated," she told him. "Promise you won't tell anyone else."

Michael was too curious to stop there, it seemed, so he obligingly withdrew his wand, making a wand vow with Hermione.

"I was told I'm a New Blood," Hermione told him seriously. "But without that designation, I'd be considered a Muggle-born just like you."

Michael blinked. "A 'New Blood'?"

Hermione explained about meeting Luna in Flourish and Blotts and the prophecy she had spoken, and how the Sorting Hat had called her New Blood as well. Michael listened and looked at her curiously as she spoke about doing her best to establish New Blood as being a _thing_. He was looking at her thoughtfully by the end.

"If a Seer said you're a New Blood, then you're a New Blood," he told her matter-of-factly. "No matter what doubts you feel, the wizarding world takes the words of verified Seers pretty much as law. Even if New Bloods weren't a thing before you, they are _now_ , with you being the first."

"Yes, but that means _nothing_ if people don't _believe_ me," Hermione said, resisting the urge to kick a bookshelf. "I'm in Slytherin. I've told everybody I'm a New Blood, and I _think_ my year mates _mostly_ believe me, but the rest of the house doesn't. I get a lot of flack for being born to Muggles. A _lot._ "

Michael looked at her sympathetically.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help," he told her honestly. "I got shit on too when I was in Hogwarts for being Muggle-born, and I was only in Ravenclaw. The blood prejudice is awful and unfair."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Do you mean it?"

Michael blinked at her. "What?"

"Do you mean it?" she asked. "That you wish you could help?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Of course."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Even if it meant breaking the rules?"

Comprehension dawned in Michael's eyes.

"You have an idea," he said. "You've come up with an idea."

"I've had the idea for weeks now," Hermione admitted. "I haven't seen the opportunity to carry it out, though. I figured I'd have to wait a few years, work my way up to being a page or a binder in order to do it…"

Michael chuckled. "Vitac is never going to let you transfer departments. You're too good at copy-writing. He's already mourning you going back to school, you know."

Hermione flushed, and Michael laughed.

"So what's your plan?" he asked amenably. "It's been a while since I've gotten up to some good mischief."

After double-checking to make sure no one needed them, Hermione led him through the stacks, crossing over rows.

"These are the master copies over here, Hermione," Michael said. "What are you-?"

"I know," Hermione said, hushing him. "Come on."

They went far back into the stacks, past the 1970s, the 1960s, the 1950s, the 1940s. They stopped at the section for the 1930s – all the books published in the entire decade.

"We're either looking for a book by 'Anonymous' or Cantankerus Nott," Hermione whispered.

Michael's eyes lit with understanding. "The Pure-Blood Directory."

They split up, searching the shelves.

The _Pure-Blood Directory_ had been a short book published anonymously in the 1930s. It had decried the mixing of magical blood with Muggle, urged magical people to only marry other magicals, and pushed the agenda of pureblood purity forward hard. What it was most notable for was its inclusion of a list, of the "Sacred 28" – a list of the 28 families with completely pure blood and flawless pedigree in the United Kingdom. Regardless of the ideas touted in the book, the list had caused a large stir in the magical community in Britain; pureblood families who bought into the ideology and were on the list were suddenly better, worth more than their peers and elevated in status, while families on the list who _didn't_ follow the ideology cried out against the publication and were promptly labeled blood-traitors by the hardcore believers.

Hermione had memorized the list of family names before she'd come to Hogwarts, finding a copy of the list in an etiquette guide. She had recognized many of them: Tracey Davis was the only other girl in her dorm that _wasn't_ part of the Sacred 28, and Draco and Theo were both on the list as well. A few others she knew were, too: Marcus Flint's family was listed, as was Neville's, as well as Ron's. There were a few others around the school as well – members of this illustrious pureblood elite.

"Found it!" Michael hissed, and Hermione hurried over, taking the book from him and reading quickly, her eyes rapidly scanning the pages.

The book was much as she expected – full of vitriol and hatred, dripping disdain for Muggles from every paragraph, conveying the superiority of purebloods, but itself not particularly well-written. Luckily, it was rather short.

"Do you know the spells to edit a master?" Hermione asked Michael, scanning the table of contents. She glanced up at him. "Do you?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I shouldn't, but I do." He sank to the floor next to her. "Do you know what you want to change?"

Hermione rapidly flipped through the book. It wasn't very long, and she finally found what she was looking for somewhere in the middle – the definition of 'pureblood'. It was hidden in the middle of the book, after the grandiose introduction but long before the meat of the book, the directory of names itself.

"Here," she hissed. "How do I edit it?"

"It's done by dictation," Michael told her. "You'll have to know _exactly_ what you want to say before you start speaking. The spell will adjust the print lines."

"And it will all fit?"

"If there's room," Michael warned.

Hermione flipped the page, seeing about three-quarters of a free page at the end of the chapter. That was all the wiggle-room she would have to add text. She flipped back to the part she wanted.

"Okay," she said, biting her lips. "I'm ready."

Michael traced a complicated sigil over the book, his wand careful, deliberate.

" _Commutatio scriptum,_ " he whispered, and touched his wand to the page.

The page jerked, and the text began to turn blue, spreading out from his wand point. Hermione looked to Michael, astonished, and he nodded to her expectantly. Hermione took a deep breath, leaned over to Michael's wand, and began to speak.

Hermione had long since considered what exactly she would put into this book if she ever got the chance - considering it over and over again, often while trying to fall asleep. It had been one of her goals once she'd started working at the publishing house, as soon as she had learned such a thing was possible. Hermione spoke very carefully, every word deliberate and chosen with care.

When she was done, she pulled back and nodded to Michael, who pulled his wand from the page, murmured a " _Scriptum signo"_ and traced another complicated sigil, and the text sealed itself once more, the blue turning back to black. Once they were both sure it was done, the book completely sealed, they both let out deep sighs of relief.

Dark black text that hadn't been there before stood out to Hermione in stark relief.

 _Most venerated and rare of the purebloods is the_ _ **New Blood**_ _, the originator of a new Great House. New Bloods represent the spontaneous generation of magic from an entirely unmagical line, given their power by being touched by Magic itself. Those of New Blood are exceptionally powerful, through this connection with Magic itself, and they have been gifted with fertility, destined to be blessed with many powerful children, ensuring the success of their new Great House._

 _New Bloods can be noted by their skill with nonverbal and wandless magic, as well as the amount of power they control. Once a witch or wizard of New Blood comes of age, they may formally make their claim as one of sacred and new blood. A convocation of the Sacred 28 families will be called, and the New Blood will demonstrate their strength and the purity of their magic and blood. Two-thirds of the existing families must agree that the person is truly of New Blood, gifted by magic itself, and not the spawn of a squib pretending at power._

 _Once the quorum agrees, the name of the New Blood must be added in, considered another Sacred family, and the Directory updated to the Sacred 29 (or the Sacred 30, the Sacred 31, and so on)._

Hermione pulled her eyes from the page, her breath short. She pressed her fists to her eyes and rubbed them hard. She felt like she might faint.

"I can't believe you just did that," Michael said, his voice sounding slightly stunned. "Holy _shit._ "

"You don't?" Hermione asked, biting her lip. "Oh, we are going to get in _so much trouble_."

Michael seemed to snap to.

"We're not going to get caught," he scoffed. "No one will ever know. All the copies people have will update. No one will know it was ever different. And we're done – all we're doing now is looking at a copy of a very old book. Nothing wrong with that."

Hermione bit her lip. "Then why can't you believe we did that?"

Michael stood and re-shelved the book, before taking her hand and leading her from the stacks, over to the safer ones, the reference shelves. Hermione hurriedly trotted along at his side.

"Because that is the _one_ thing I can think of that will give your claim the most legitimacy," Michael told her. "I can't even count how many times I heard people reference that stupid book and discuss their bloodlines. The purebloods, the blood purists, they _venerate_ that book. And you just... went and changed it. You just rewrote their canon." Michael shook his head. "The sheer _nerve_ on you, girl…"

"I can't believe I was able to do it so _soon_ ," Hermione admitted. "It was a pipe-dream, really – something to work up to and manage to do once I got to learn the right spells to edit a Master and had enough power to do it myself… I never _dreamed_ I'd have an accomplice..."

Hermione froze as the words left her.

She had an _accomplice_.

Accomplices, from what she knew, were dangerous loose ends, and, if left dangling, they could tie you up and trap you later. Accomplices could end up very incriminating, and the Slytherin part of Hermione was screaming at her for not learning how to erase memories before starting on this mission with her friend.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked Michael in the eyes.

"In order for this to work, I need no one to ever know this was done," she told him. "You helped me. What do you want in exchange for your silence?"

Michael quirked an eyebrow.

"It shows that you're in Slytherin," he said, a slow grin coming onto his face. "You're not comfortable with getting something without giving something in return. Though most Slytherins don't ask 'what do you want?' so directly."

Hermione fought the urge to squirm. "So?"

Michael shrugged.

"I can't think of anything, really," he said. He grinned at her, his crooked teeth mocking her in the dim light. "Not really. What can a thirteen-year-old girl get me that I can't get myself?"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, considering.

"I might have an idea…"

* * *

A few days later, Michael came up to Hermione and suddenly hugged her hard in front of everyone else, making her squeal in surprise. He picked her up, swinging her around in glee and laughter, making everyone else stare.

"Aah-! Michael, _what-?"_

"Your parents said they could _fix_ it!" Michael exclaimed. His joy was contagious. "A couple surgeries and possibly braces, and they'll help me with a payment plan, but _they can fix it!_ It never even occurred to me to _ask_ Muggle dentists after Madame Pomfrey said it was too dangerous to try – she said magicking it might make my teeth fall out!"

"That's great, Michael," Hermione exclaimed. "Now put me down!"

Michael did so, laughing as Hermione stumbled slightly, dizzy.

"You don't even know what this _means_ to me," he told her, grinning widely. "Hermione, I haven't gone out in public much or really dated for _years_. Oh, I can dress up and comb my hair, sure, but the second I open my mouth, it's over. But this… this will _fix_ that! I will look _normal_ again!"

He laughed again, more quietly, almost to himself, as if he couldn't believe it. Hermione beamed up at him, excited and happy at his joy.

"We're even, now, right?" she said. "This is good enough for you?"

Michael stared at her.

"Hermione, I cast a few spells for you, and we were done in five minutes. It was nothing," he told her, giving her an honest smile. "This... This will give me back my self-confidence, give me back my _life._ You are giving me _way_ more than I gave."

He clapped a hand onto her shoulder, offering her a hesitant smile.

"If you _ever_ need anything – _anything_ , _"_ he told her seriously, "I'll be one of the first at your side."


	78. The Gemino Curse

Hermione arrived at her internship one Monday morning to discover everyone in an uproar, people running all over the place. Even the copy-editors and fact-checkers had been pulled into the chaos, all of them taking orders from the seldom-seen people in the binding room. There was a lot of yelling, but there still seemed to be some underlying order to the abrupt explosion of chaos. Curious, Hermione located her boss.

"Mr. Vitac?"

Cadmus looked down at her. "Oh. Good morning, Hermione."

"Good morning, sir," she greeted. "Sir… what on earth is going on here?"

"What's going on?" He laughed. "Student booklists came out! We have to be ready!"

"Book lists?" Hermione repeated. "Oh, you mean for Hogwarts?"

"For Hogwarts, for Beauxbatons, for Durmstrang, for Ilvermony – we publish a _lot_ of the most used textbooks. And _all_ of them publish their book lists the same week. And we need to be ready!"

He gestured with his wand at all the chaos.

"Right now, people are finding the masters of the textbooks required. Things will settle down once all the Master copies have been located. Then the spellers will be quite busy for the week, duplicating as many books as required for the pending orders."

" _Pending_ orders?" Hermione questioned. "How do you know how many to make if the bookstores haven't even put in an order yet?"

"The schools send notice of how many students will require a particular book," Cadmus said. "We make that many, plus 5-10%. It's usually pretty accurate."

Hermione stared at the chaos, pages performing daring feats of leaping ladder to ladder, tossing books down to fact-checkers, who sprinted back and forth from the spelling room.

"Um," Hermione said. "How should I help?"

Cadmus looked down at her, smiled, and patted her shoulder.

"Why don't you start with coffee and tea for all the spellers?" he suggested. "They're going to need it."

Hermione didn't much like playing coffee girl at her internship, but she didn't let it show. When she walked into the spelling room levitating two large trays in front of her with coffee and tea, the spellers barely let her set them down before descending upon the trays in desperation, craving their caffeine. It was like watching wild animals descend on a carcass at a zoo, and Hermione was amused to watch them fight each other over the sugar and milk.

Hermione looked around the room. Books were scattered _everywhere_ , large tables covered with master copies, tall piles of book copies stacked on the floor. There were large charts pinned to the one of the walls, each headed with a school's name. The chart listed titles and authors, what year, required copies, and copies produced so far. Hermione found the Hogwarts list and moved closer, scanning the chart.

"…the _Lockhart_ books?" she exclaimed. " _All_ of them?"

One of the copiers looked up from her cup at Hermione's exclamation, giving her a grimace.

"We haven't the slightest idea, either," she told her. "There's _no_ reason for that."

"I'm betting the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher made it a condition of her contract," another copier said, coming over to join the conversation. "That either she got to include all the Lockhart books as class texts, or she wouldn't take the post."

"Why do you presume it's a _she?_ " the first copier snapped.

"Oh, come on," the second copier scoffed, pointing at the list with his tea. "It's _got_ to be a fangirl of some sort. No sane person would ask for _those_ as _legitimate_ textbooks _._ "

They started arguing, and Hermione winced and moved on to the pile of books on one of the tables. Some of the spellers were already adjusting the Master copies' spells, removing the copyright protection spells and preparing them for duplication. One of them glanced down at Hermione.

"Going back to Hogwarts, are you?" she said. Hermione nodded, and the speller smiled. She went over to a man who looked like a hawk, before coming back to her.

"I'm Sylvia," she told her. "You can work your internship in this room, today, and try to help us duplicate the books."

Hermione was shocked. "I can?"

Sylvia gave her a small smile, shrugging. "Sure. Why not? You're supposed to learn this sort of thing here, right?"

Hermione didn't correct her, and Sylvia took Hermione over to a corner out of the way and showed her the Gemino curse.

"It's not a very _difficult_ spell, perhaps, but it does require focus and enough power to back it up," she explained. "See if you can't copy one or two of your required spell books today. If you do, you can take them with you, and you'll have that many fewer to buy!"

"I can _keep_ them?" Hermione asked.

"Sure." Sylvia smiled. "Any books you manage to duplicate today are yours. Be careful not to wear yourself out, though! And don't be too hard on yourself – _Gemino_ is a tricky spell."

Sylvia left her alone after that, and Hermione clutched _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ – a book she had already had for a year. She bit her lip, looking down at the book. Even if it was difficult, she might as well try.

The Gemino curse had a tricky sort of wand movement, and Hermione practiced it a couple times before aiming it squarely at the book.

 _"Gemino!"_

There was a rush of power from her, and suddenly there was another book sitting there. It was as if it had popped into existence out of nowhere.

Hermione squealed happily, the noise entirely undignified. She found herself utterly unable to care. She had just _made_ a _book_ -!

After a minute of celebrating, Hermione considered the book and frowned. Sylvia had said it was hard. And she'd just gotten it on her first try.

Curious, Hermione held her wand and closed her eyes, mentally tracing from her wand to deep inside her, and when she reached the 'pool' of power inside of her, she gasped. Nearly a third of it was gone! A _third!_

 _Never_ had a spell taken so much out of her, Hermione was certain. Except, maybe, when she transfigured the lead pipe, at the beginning of her first year. But she had been weak, then, and hadn't been practicing. She was much stronger now - and it had still taken a _third!_

Hermione looked to the duplicators and spellers with new respect. If they could cast this curse _all day long…_

She shivered. _That_ was power.

Well. At least she'd made a book for Harry. She doubted he would have gotten one in advance.

Mentally shrugging to herself, Hermione aimed her wand at the book again.

 _"Gemino!"_

Again, the strong rush of power, and another book popped into existence. It was only slightly less exciting the second time, and Hermione still felt flush with her success. Curious to see if this one had used the same amount of power, Hermione traced her power back inside of herself, only to find that her power reserves were now _half_ full.

…Half full?

 _Half?_

Hermione had not taken a math class in a long time, but she was relatively sure that one third plus one third was two thirds, not one half. Two thirds of her power should be missing, not one half.

Hermione paused.

" _Gemino!_ "

There were three copies, now, not counting the master. Hermione quickly mentally dived back down her arm into herself, to find about one third of her power remaining.

Hermione wanted to bash her head off the wall. This didn't make any sense!

Well. At least she had copies for Harry, Ron, and Neville, now. She didn't dare make copies for her Slytherin friends, as they'd take offense, and she would be surprised if her Ravenclaw friends hadn't already bought the book a while ago as she had.

If she only had one or two spells left in her, she was going to make it count. Hermione wandered over to the table of Masters, replaced the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ , and slipped off _Gadding with Ghouls_. She returned to her corner, looking at it distastefully. This was going to be a _textbook?_

Annoyed, she pointed at it, carefully tracing the spell with her wand and casting.

 _"Gemino!"_

The book popped into existence, but the strong rush of power felt less strong this time. Hermione was concerned, before she tried casting again.

" _Gemino!"_

To her astonishment, it worked _again_ , and she didn't feel entirely exhausted – just like she had been running very hard, somehow. Hermione took a moment to center herself, reaching for her power, to find it half full.

 _What?_

The spell, Hermione decided, either made absolutely no sense, or Hermione was rapidly improving at it, or Hermione had some kind of superhuman power-recovery system. She'd never heard of regenerating power so quickly – though, upon reflection, it wasn't really the kind of thing often discussed. Was this what casting magic was like as you got older? Powerful spells would empty your reserves, but they'd replenish fast enough you'd barely notice?

Could a witch train herself to have seemingly _infinite_ power?

Hermione had no idea.

 _"Gemino!"_

Hermione tried to keep an awareness of her power inside herself, watching this time as the spell erupted from her wand, duplicating the book. The power for the spell flooded out through her and her wand, leaving her with about a third, but even as Hermione watched, her power started regenerating quickly, recovering to about a half in a minute, slowing at that point, but still coming back to her much faster than she'd ever imagined.

At this rate, she could completely drain her power, and it'd all be back within an hour, Hermione estimated.

Hermione grinned.

There were seven Lockhart books. If she wanted to make four copies of each one (for herself, Harry, Neville, Ron), she would need to cast _Gemino_ twenty-eight times (twenty-seven, minus the one she'd already done). If she cast a conservative seven times an hour, she'd be done in four hours. _If_ her regeneration rate held steady.

Hermione began casting.

It was _fun._ It was simultaneously a rush to feel so much power leaving her at once and utterly _exhausting_ , to feel so much magic drain all at once. And her magic seemed excited, wanting to rise to the challenge – even as low as Hermione got, her magic would regenerate even quicker, and after she'd caught her breath again, she'd be able to cast _again._ And _again._ And _again._

When she took a break for lunch, she'd copied all the Lockhart books already - complete sets of books for her, Harry, Neville, and Ron. She looked at them proudly, neat little stacks of eight books that hadn't existed before, pulled into being by her power and sheer force of will.

She glanced back at the big table, where everyone was still casting, numbers still updating automatically on the charts as done books were put into big bins. She turned back to her own little piles, thinking, before raising her wand again.

By the end of the day, she had ten piles, instead of four. She was sweaty, exhausted, and kind of crazed-looking, but she felt _exhilarated_. She'd _never_ used to much magic for so long a period of time.

This must be what Aurors felt when they trained, Hermione mused, wiping her forehead and the back of her neck with her robes. They must cast powerful spells over and over and over, then take a break, and then practice _again_ , and again, and again. She could scarcely _imagine_ the amount of power necessary to do such a thing. That must be why they had to practice and train so much – to increase their magical endurance and regeneration rates as much as the possibly could.

Sylvia came over to Hermione at the end of the day and gave her a smile.

"Did you manage to duplicate a few of your books?" she asked.

"Those," Hermione said, gesturing clumsily to the piles at her feet. Sylvia's eyes widened and sparkled.

"Well done!" she exclaimed. "You're what, almost thirteen? I never thought you'd manage to duplicate eight books! Good for you!"

She beamed at Hermione, who looked back at her, puzzled.

"No…" Hermione said slowly. "I didn't manage to duplicate _eight_ …"

Sylvia blinked at her.

"I managed to duplicate _seventy-four_ ," Hermione said, sweeping her arm wider.

Slowly, Sylvia turned, looking around at the ten little piles of books stacked nearly around Hermione's seat.

Her eyes grew huge.

Methodically, Sylvia began shrinking them, piling them all into a box she had brought over for Hermione, before handing Hermione the box, her eyes still wide.

"I think," she said faintly, handing the box to Hermione, "that we are going to have to talk to Mr. Vitac about you."


	79. Omission

Whatever Sylvia was going to talk to Mr. Vitac about was put aside from Hermione's mind, as she had a doctor's appointment scheduled for that Tuesday and wouldn't be present at her internship that day. Her mother had even taken off work for it, and Hermione was mortified to have her mother going along.

"Now, this is perfectly normal, Hermione," her mother told her, for what felt like the fiftieth time. "Going to the gynecologist is just part of being a woman and growing up."

" _Mum,"_ Hermione hissed. "I'm _not_ a woman yet. I haven't gotten my period, and I don't have breasts."

"Well, this is good practice, then," her mother replied, unflustered. "Come on."

The exam had gone _fine_. The gynecologist had even seemed mildly amused by it.

"It's not uncommon for young women to have their first period, and then not have another one for several months," she said kindly. "It can take a few years for a teen's cycle to work itself into a more regular one."

Hermione had shot her mother a triumphant grin, and her mother rolled her eyes.

"Shouldn't she get an ultrasound?" Hermione's mother asked. "What if her womb is abnormal?"

"That'd be excessive," the doctor explained. "All we would do with that is measure the endometrial lining, which isn't necessary - there's no real medical case for that here. It's not as if Hermione is complaining of stomach pains." The doctor turned to Hermione. " _Do_ you have heavy abdominal cramping?"

"Umm," Hermione said. "No."

The doctor nodded, satisfied.

"I'll order some blood work to rule out anything more serious, but other than that, everything seems perfectly normal," the doctor reassured them both. "I'm sure it was just an odd quirk of nature. Everything seems to be in order."

The blood from her arm was a hassle, but a welcome one – it meant Hermione was about to leave. Hermione's mother made arrangements with the front desk to be called with the results of the tests within a week, while Hermione occupied herself through searching through the dish of lollipops the receptionist had out.

"Oh, no, Hermione," her mother sighed. "Hermione, those are for _children._ "

Just to spite her, Hermione took two.

* * *

Hermione's summer settled down, to her smug satisfaction. Her blood work all came back fine, so her mother was forced to calm down about the whole magical period thing. Hermione was sure she'd get the normal kind sooner or later (she was hoping for 'later'), and until then, she needn't pay it any more attention.

And whatever Sylvia had been hoping for by talking to Cadmus Vitac about her in the spelling room for her internship had come to nothing – there was nothing in her contract about her being used as a regular speller, and Vitac was firm she stay at her job copy-editing manuscripts. Hermione suspected that he was using her to do a lot of his _own_ work, but she didn't mind – reading all day was pretty much the best job she could ask for, in her opinion. Hermione wondered what type of salary an adult copy-writer or fact-checker made, here, but she didn't want to ask – it seemed rude somehow, and she had no idea of wizarding salaries in the first place to determine if it would be a high or low figure.

The only thing was that she had had to hear the story of Sylvia's discussion (or confrontation, according to Michael) with Vitac second-hand; Hermione had learned of it while circulating and delivering coffee and tea to her coworkers. According to rumor, Sylvia had stormed out of work the day before after her meeting with Vitac, yelling something the others couldn't make out, and she hadn't been seen or heard from since. When one of her coworkers attempted to Floo her to see if she was out sick, they discovered a vacant flat - completely emptied out and abandoned.

There was no sign of where Sylvia had gone.

It made Hermione uneasy to think about.

It was entirely possible that Sylvia had gotten very upset at what Vitac had said and quit her job in a huff. Having quit her job and being a single woman, she would have had no reason to stay where she lived geographically, and, being a witch, surely magically packing her things would have taken her a matter of minutes, not hours. It was entirely possible that Sylvia had just up and left, going to look for employment in another country's magical community instead of the UK's.

It was entirely possible.

But it wasn't entirely _probable_.

What had Sylvia discussed with Vitac that would have made her so angry? What had been said that made her change the course of her entire life so abruptly? It was absurd to think that it was her own fault, but Hermione couldn't seem to shake the memory of the stunned expression on Sylvia's face from the copying day, and wonder if she hadn't played some small role in it all.

Hermione quietly resolved to herself to be more careful who she showed the extent of her power to. If nothing else, Sylvia's reaction had made it obvious that most _adults_ weren't capable of casting _Gemino_ that many times that quickly. And Hermione didn't really want the adults around her paying her extra attention.

She tried her best to push the entire issue from her mind.

Harry had resumed writing her, to Hermione's pleasure, once he had settled in with the Weasleys. He invited her to come and meet them all in Diagon Alley the next week, and Hermione happily accepted, asking Cadmus for the day off. He gave it to her without hesitation, only warning her to be careful of Flourish and Blotts on the chosen day – there was a book signing arranged, and it might be crowded. Hermione thanked him for his advice.

Hermione unpacked her bag the night before, carefully putting in shrunken boxes of the books she'd made. It was important she give them to the Weasleys before they bought their own books. She also put in a check from her parents to convert into galleons to spend on school supplies and new spellbooks. She set out her best casual robes, the green ones that her parents had gotten her for Christmas, and she polished her wand. After a long deliberation, she pinned her Slytherin crest to the front of her robes as well.

If she was going to be in Diagon Alley, there was a chance her Slytherin classmates might see her, and their parents might be with them. That meant Hermione had to look her best, to provide the best representation of a New Blood that she possibly could. After all, you only got to make a first impression once – and she needed to be sure she left a good one wherever she went.

Hermione was determined to be ready for anything.


	80. Claiming Collateral

When Hermione went downstairs to leave for Diagon Alley early the next morning, her mother's eyes went large at her attire.

"It's Diagon Alley," Hermione said hastily. "This is what people wear there, mum."

"It's not the robes," her mother reassured her. "It's how _long_ they are. I can practically see your ankles already! And those touched the floor when we got them for you!"

Hermione looked down, a little embarrassed. Sure enough, her ankles were poking out.

"They're not _that_ short," she muttered.

"You'll have to ask Madame Malkin if there are any hems that can be taken down," her mother said, frowning. "Ah, well. I won't say I didn't expect this, but I didn't realize you were still growing quite so much!"

Her mother went for her purse, pulling out her checkbook.

"Take this, too," her mother said, handing her another check. "If you need new clothes. We can't have you in ill-fitting things, can we?"

"Mum, you've already given me enough," Hermione objected, but she took the check all the same. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Perhaps." Her mother looked at her knowingly. "But I'm sure you don't want clothes-buying to cut into your book budget, do you?"

Hermione blushed, and her mother laughed and hugged her affectionately.

"I was the same way when I was a child," she told her, smiling. "I would have skipped the buying clothes and just spent it all on books. By giving you more, I know you'll be responsible enough to get both."

She let her go, watching as Hermione straightened her robes and went to the fireplace.

"Say 'hi' to your friends for me," her mother said. "I'm sorry I couldn't take the day off and come with you to meet them, but the practice has been slammed recently."

"It's alright. You can meet them another time." Hermione shrugged, offering her a smile back. "And I will."

The trip to Diagon Alley was a simple one – she had Floo powder on the mantel, and the Leaky Cauldron kept an open Floo for visitors at all times. The trip was awkward, but Hermione managed to get through the dingy pub and tap on the correct bricks quickly enough, Diagon Alley opening up before her as bricks spun and danced out of the way.

Hermione's eyes sparkled as she watched. She loved magic.

She went first to Gringotts, asking for Bloodthorne to bargain with and cash her checks. Bloodthorne was pleased to see her, his spiny teeth glittering with his grin.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he greeted her. "I would do business with you on this day."

"Bloodthorne," Hermione said, offering him a small bow. "Good to see you doing well."

Bloodthorne was surprisingly reasonable, only gouging her a little bit on the exchange rate for her mother's checks before taking her back to a private consultation room.

"I have contracts for you to sign," he told her, pushing a pile of parchments across the table. "You would sign using this quill."

Again, Hermione winced as she signed each contract, the quill stealing blood from her body. She could almost feel a sharp nail trace her name over her body in different places each time she signed – on her arm, on her thigh, on the back of her hand, on her back.

After they had all been signed, Bloodthorne put them away and came back with a cart of something else.

"A few of those offered loans failed the terms of their agreements," Bloodthorne informed her. His eyes glinted. "As such, they have forfeited their 'collateral'. As was our agreement, you have first rights to it, before it is sold."

Hermione sat up straight, suddenly excited. She'd forgotten about this part.

"What did they put up?" she asked. "What did we get?"

Bloodthorne looked momentarily thrown by her excitement, before cracking his neck to the side and nodding to himself, his eyes regaining their usual greedy sheen.

"First," he said. "We have a bolt of Acromantula silk."

He pulled the silk out from the cart, and Hermione gasped to see its beauty.

"This is so pretty!" she said. "How much is this worth?"

"At retail price, about ten galleons a yard," Bloodthorne said. "Less, wholesale. The entire bolt is worth between 150-200 galleons."

Hermione ran her hands over it reverently, before setting it aside.

"I'll pass. I can't sew, anyway," she said ruefully. "Someone else will make more use of it than me."

Bloodthorne made a note on his scroll, before tottering back over to the cart.

"Next," he said, "we have an idol of a cat."

The cat idol looked to be a large onyx idol of the Egyptian goddess Bast. Something about it seemed slightly off, slightly creepy. Its eyes were slightly too intelligent-looking for a mere figure, almost as if it were alive.

"Ah, I'll pass," Hermione said quickly. Bloodthorne made another note.

"Lastly," he said, reaching into the bin. "We have a grimoire."

Hermione perked up, reaching instinctively for the book, before quickly drawing back. She withdrew her wand, carefully casting a curse-detection charm, though Bloodthorne snickered at her, before she pulled it closer. The book was old and battered, and Hermione had to squint to make out the faded gilded letters on the cover.

 _The Songe of the Beastes_

Hermione paged through it, her eyes widening.

"This is written in Middle English!" she exclaimed. "This must be _ancient_. This is incredible. Who had this?"

"James Ogden. A _wizard_ ," Bloodthorne said, sneering. The way he said it made Hermione wonder if he was offering loans to non-wizards too.

"How much was the loan for?"

Bloodthorne consulted his contract. "500 galleons."

"500?!" Hermione gasped. She was astonished. She didn't realize she _had_ that much to loan out. Though, if she did the math... just the Avon money would have put her up something close to that, and she guessed the rest of the money came from interest payments she was accruing from the loans, too. She closed the book, looking at it enviously. To have such a historic book – even if it would take forever to read it…

"How much is left on the contract?"

Bloodthorne's lip curled. "70 galleons."

"Seventy?" Hermione gasped. "Done! I want this. I want this one."

Bloodthorne let out a cackle as Hermione grabbed the book, clutching it to her chest.

"Then, as per our agreement, Gringotts shall close out the contract with the gold from your account," he told her.

"Fine," Hermione said. "That's fine. This book is mine."

She paused.

"Wait," she said. "Close out the contract? With the gold from my account?"

Bloodthorne sneered slightly, hackles rising.

"Yes," he said. "As was _the agreement we signed to_."

"No, no, I'm not trying to break the agreement," Hermione hastily reassured him. "Just... there are 70 galleons left on the contract, correct?"

Bloodthorne was looking at her suspiciously. "Yes..."

"The contract that _I_ am funding?" Hermione inquired.

A glitter returned to Bloodthorne's eyes. "You would be correct."

"So really, I'm just paying myself back," Hermione said. "Unless there was 70 galleons worth of interest on the loan?"

Bloodthorne was openly smirking now.

"There was not," he said, pointy teeth showing. "There was 43 galleons of accumulated interest, and 27 galleons left on the original loan."

"Well, then," Hermione said, thinking. "If we're splitting the interest earned 90/10 in my favor, and the interest was 43 galleons... I'm essentially out 38 galleons I could have earned, but I only _owe_ Gringotts a total of 5 galleons."

"You would be correct," Bloodthorne said.

Hermione sat there for a long moment, stunned.

A priceless book, hundreds of years old - multiple _centuries_ \- for roughly £25.

The thought boggled her mind.

"I initially thought I was basically buying the book for 70 galleons," Hermione said. She shook her head ruefully. "I didn't work out the figures behind our collateral transactions ahead of time to realize how they fell." She offered the goblin a grin. "I kind of wish I'd taken a second look at that fabric, now."

Bloodthorne cackled again, offering her a sharp grin. His eyes had a reddish-purple gleam to them, as opposed to their usual greasy sheen. Hermione wondered if it meant he was amused - the cackling was a helpful context clue, but she couldn't be sure.

"I almost wonder how Gringotts is making a profit at all," Hermione wondered aloud.

"Rest assured, Hermione Granger, that the bank is taking its claim." Bloodthorne looked smug and highly satisfied. "Many loans are going out, and many payments are coming in. With them, many late fees are being assessed, and much interest is being charged. Gringotts is _very_ happy to be doing business with you in this way."

"Well, then," Hermione said, her lips quirking upwards. "I'm glad to hear it. I'll be sure to come back when I'm next around."

"A pleasure as always, Hermione Granger," he said, standing and offering her a bow. "I would do business with you again when you were next in the alley."

"Of course," Hermione told him, bowing back. "It was very much my pleasure, too."


	81. Diagon Alley

Hermione ran into Harry on her way out of the bank, being dragged along by Hagrid.

"Harry!" she said, gasping. "What happened to your glasses?"

Harry was covered in soot, cobwebs, and his glasses were broken. Whipping out her wand, Hermione began repairing his glasses and brush off the soot coating his clothes.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said with relief. "Err… aren't we not supposed to use magic over the summer?"

"They can't tell who casts a spell, only the area it was cast in, generally," Hermione said absently. "If you don't get caught, there's no proof it was you." Having set Harry to rights, Hermione stepped back, craning her neck up. "Hello, Hagrid."

"'Lo, 'Mione," Hagrid grinned. "Yeh not on yer own, are yeh?"

"Well, I'm supposed to be meeting Harry and the Weasleys here," Hermione said, side-stepping the question. "Actually – Harry, weren't you coming with the Weasleys?"

"I got lost," Harry said, scowling. "We didn't take the Tube. There was this awful thing with the fireplace – Floo Powder, they called it – and I ended up down this dingy alleyway. I need to find the Weasleys–"

"Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said, satisfied.

Hermione and Harry looked around. Sprinting through the crowds were Ron, Fred, George, and a couple other Weasleys, too.

"Harry," a balding red-headed man said with relief, panting. "We _hoped_ you'd only gone one grate too far…" He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic. She and Ginny are coming now…"

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"Knockturn Alley," Hagrid said grimly.

" _Excellent!"_ said Fred and George.

"We've never been allowed in," Ron said enviously.

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid.

"Knockturn Alley?" Hermione questioned. "What's that?"

"It's an alley full of dodgy things," Fred told her.

"Things of, perhaps, questioning legality," George added.

"-or questionable _morality_ -"

"It's where Dark wizards shop," the taller Weasley boy snapped. "It's entirely inappropriate to go down. And I'm _horrified_ that I'm related to people who even would _want_ to."

Hermione turned to the older Weasley boy, tilting her head.

"Percy, right?" she asked.

Percy drew himself and looked down at her.

"Yes, I am," he informed her. "What of it?"

"Do Dark _witches_ shop in Knockturn Alley as well, or only Dark wizards?" she asked him. "I need to know these things."

Percy looked horrified. "You're not seriously-"

"I'm just curious," Hermione said, her eyes glinting. "I mean, 'wizards' is a gendered term, so for all I know-"

Percy scowled at her, while Harry stifled a laugh.

"Witches and wizards of good standing do not shop in Knockturn Alley," he informed her frostily.

"Thank you," Hermione said politely. "Good to see sexism still alive and well in the wizarding world, too."

Harry had a coughing fit, trying to hide his laughter. Ron looked part stunned and part confused, while the twins were openly snickering at their brother.

"Oh, Harry-!"

Mrs. Weasley came running up, pulling the small Weasley girl along with her. Hermione took a careful step back as Mrs. Weasley began to fuss over him. Harry looked rather embarrassed over the whole thing.

When they finally separated from Hagrid, they all began to head into Gringotts, Hermione tagging along despite having just left the bank.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione. "Malfoy and his father."

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply.

"No, he was selling," Harry replied.

"So he's worried," Mr. Weasley said with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…"

Mrs. Weasley objected to that, and whilst they were bickering, Harry drew Hermione closer.

"Hermione, I didn't want the others to hear this," he told her, his voice quiet, "but they mentioned you."

"Mentioned me?" Hermione blinked. "Lucius Malfoy?"

"Both him and Draco," Harry confirmed. "Lucius Malfoy made a nasty remark about his son's grades, referencing you."

Hermione gave him a careful look as they waited in line for one of the goblins.

"What exactly did he say, Harry?" she asked.

Harry bit his lip and looked awkward.

"He was criticizing Malfoy's grades," Harry said. "Malfoy objected, saying he came in second in the class, and his dad said that he'd have thought Malfoy would be ashamed that 'a girl of no wizard family' beat him in every exam."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Malfoy objected, though," Harry continued, even more quietly. "He said that it wasn't like that – that you were New Blood, and that his father couldn't possibly expect him to compete with someone who had a backdoor to Magic itself."

Hermione was interested despite herself.

"And what did Mr. Malfoy say to that?" she asked.

"Mr. Malfoy said he'd never heard of such tripe in his life," Harry admitted, "and that if his son was determined to keep lying to him, to try something more plausible than the deranged claims of a trumped-up Muggle-born."

Hermione smiled a grim smile.

"Deranged claims?" she repeated. "We'll see about that…"

As they reached the front, Hermione was excited to go down in a cart with them all, but including her would put the cart over its passenger limit.

"We'll need two carts," Mrs. Weasley said, worriedly. "Or rather, no, we'll leave some of the kids behind…"

"I want to go!" Ginny objected. "It's my first time getting to ride in the cart!"

"Hermione can go down with me, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said hastily. "We'll meet you right back up here."

The journey underground was exciting, and Hermione enjoyed whooping and screaming right along with Harry, as if the breakneck journey on the carts were a roller coaster. When they arrived at his vault, Hermione leapt out, laughing and gasping, Harry falling out next to her.

"That was amazing!" Hermione declared. "I need to go visit my own vault, the next time I come here!"

Even though Hermione knew what to expect, Harry's vault was a _literal vault_ , buried in the side of a mountain deep underground. It still seemed so surreal, and even more surreal to see that it had actual piles of gold coins in it.

"I'm glad we split up from the Weasleys," Harry admitted, sweeping coins into his bag. "I don't know how much gold the Weasleys have, but from Ron… well…"

Draco constantly derided the Weasleys for their poverty, Hermione knew. It wasn't hard to guess how awkward Harry might feel, having them see the bountiful contents of his vault.

"This is your inheritance?" Hermione asked, giving it a careful look. "This isn't bad. There looks to be a small fortune here."

"I'm glad it should be enough to get me through school for all seven years," Harry said. "I can't imagine asking the Dursleys for money to pay for spell books…"

"Oh! That reminds me!"

After they reached the top floor of Gringotts once again and headed outside, Hermione drew the Weasleys over out of the way of traffic before opening her bag, taking out a box of books.

"Harry reminded me – we all need spell books, right?"

"Yeah, including the full set of Lockhart's works," Ron groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Well, I have a solution to help with that part, at least," she said brightly. "Here."

Hermione began handing out small boxes to everyone – one to Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, and Percy.

"What're these?" Harry said, flipping open his lid.

"They're all the Lockhart books," Hermione told them. "I shrunk them down for easy storage. Harry, Ron, you each have _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ as well."

"Oh, wow," Harry said, stroking his hand across the spines. "This is great. Thanks, 'Mione!"

"How did you _get_ these?" Fred asked, staring.

"Lockhart's books don't come cheap," George added.

"I made them," Hermione said proudly. "My summer internship is with the publishing company. Any books I made, I got to take. I made everybody copies."

The twins stared at her.

"You _made_ them?" Fred repeated.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I was allowed to take any books I made on Copying Day, and I managed to make quite a few." She bit her lip, looking at the Weasleys worriedly. "Should I not have? I meant them as a gift. I was so excited to be able to make them…"

"Hermione, I think I speak for all of us when I say we are simply struck," Percy said, drawing himself up. He looked at her formally. "You _made_ 70 galleons worth of books – for each of us. That is incredibly impressive magic, and _incredibly_ generous. Believe me, you have our gratitude."

"Seventy galleons?" Ron repeated, his eyes wide.

"Lockhart's books don't come cheap," Fred repeated, his own eyes wide.

Ron looked touched despite himself.

"You are the nicest evil person I have ever met, Hermione," he declared. "I don't care _how_ you snuck these out, only that you did. Ginny, if you ever need the help of someone evil, Hermione is the best Slytherin to go to, you hear me?"

"I didn't _steal_ them!" Hermione objected. "I _made_ them-!"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes were somewhat watery.

"This was very generous of you," she said, patting Hermione on the head. It was a bit awkward, as Hermione was taller than Mrs. Weasley, but she managed it all the same. "Very generous of you, Hermione. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't done it to help the Weasleys with their poverty – she'd just wanted to make the books and show off to her friends. "I was excited to be able to copy the books – it's really hard spell work, actually. You'll still all need to get whatever other books are on your lists…"

"I'm sure that will be no problem at all," Mrs. Weasley said. "Let's all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an couple hours?"

The schedule was quickly decided, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off, exploring the alley.

"Where to first?" Ron asked cheerfully. He seemed in a much better mood. Hermione wondered if it was because he had more galleons to spend on things he wanted, now. At least he was being nice to her for once.

"I have to get new robes," Hermione told them regretfully. "I outgrew my old ones, and my mum won't have me going around in clothes that don't fit right."

Harry looked down at his own robes. "Umm… I probably should too, actually." He winced.

They headed for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry inquired about hems being taken down, and the shop matron scoffed at him.

"There are not _hems_ to take down," she told him flatly. "I have never heard of such a stupid thing. You would be able to _see_ a hem inside the robe, you poor boy."

She motioned them up onto the platforms, magical measuring tapes beginning to fly around.

"I'm lucky Bill and Percy are both tall," Ron said, watching Harry and Hermione. "I just get their uniform robes second-hand. No dealing with all this-" He gestured at the measuring tapes around them, "-every time I decide to grow another couple inches."

Hermione was surprised. "But what if your fashion style doesn't match theirs as you grow older?"

Ron stared at her, and Harry turned to stare at her also. Hermione winced.

"Right, sorry," she said. "Forgot. Boy fashion. Not in Slytherin. All that's needed are generic school robes. Sorry. Right. Carry on."

Hermione was pleased to find that Madam Malkin, though she did not believe in hems, _did_ sell second-hand robes to those who could not afford new robes, and Hermione happily traded in her favorite green robes for a new, identical set made in her new measurements (as well as a few galleons to cover the difference).

"Can I just send you all my old robes?" Hermione begged. "And you send me identical versions of them all in my new measurements? I'll cover the difference, of course."

Madam Malkin rolled her eyes but acquiesced. "If you must." She paused, eyeing Hermione up and down. "You'll be needing all new robes soon enough, though. You'll be expected to wear more mature styles sooner rather than later."

Hermione colored. She didn't like being reminded of her puberty.

They left the robe shop and wandered the alley for a while, all enjoying ice cream cones as they explored, before finally heading to Flourish and Blotts. There were a lot of other people making their way toward the bookshop, and when they arrived, there was a large crowd jostling to get in. Hermione groaned, clapping a hand to her head.

"I forgot – there's a book signing of some sort today. Mr. Vitac warned me…"

As they got closer, they could see a giant banner stretched across the upper windows.

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

 _MAGICAL ME_

today 12:30pm to 4:30pm

Incredibly, Hermione began laughing.

"Of _course_ it'd be him," she wondered aloud. "I wonder if anyone is going to try to get all of the course books signed too? They'll be here for _hours_."

"Mum will," Ron said gloomily. "She _loves_ Lockhart…"

Hermione, Harry, and Ron squeezed inside. A long line wound around right to the back of the shop, and Hermione balked.

"There are other books I want to look around for and buy," she told them. "I didn't bring my school books, anyway. If you all want to go and get yours autographed, I think I see Mrs. Weasley in line…?"

The boys parted ways with her, and Hermione climbed up to the second floor, quickly beginning to explore the bookstore. She could feel familiar tingles of excitement as she looked around.

 _This_ time, she knew what she was looking for.

Hermione grabbed what looked like the beginner textbooks for both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, before making a beeline for the Ritual Magic section, tucked away in a shadowy corner of the shop. She was paging through _Constructing Circles_ to see if it had anything new in it when she heard someone clear their throat.

"Why, fancy seeing you here, Miss Granger…" a familiar voice purred.

Hermione's head shot up. "Blaise!"

She grinned, and she had to stop herself short from throwing herself at him, only remembering at the last moment that as a rule, Slytherins generally didn't hug. From the smirk on Blaise's face, she didn't think she fooled him in the slightest, and the glint in his eye told her he wouldn't have minded a hug, either.

"Ritual Magic?" Blaise questioned. He raised an eyebrow. "What're you studying up on that for?"

"You never know when you might need it," Hermione said absently. "I've been reading about it. It's long and complicated, but some rituals can do some really powerful stuff, you know."

Blaise looked impressed.

"Well, count me in if you ever decide to form a coven," he told her. "With you running one, it'd be sure to be interesting, if nothing else."

He winked at her, and Hermione laughed, before stopping short, her eyes catching a flash of a familiar platinum blond.

"Blaise… is that Mr. Malfoy?"

A tall, blond man wearing a wizard hat and carrying a long black cane stood near Draco Malfoy near the top of the staircase. Draco was sneering over the railing at the spectacle going on below, while the tall man was looking at the books on the shelves.

"That's him," Blaise said, lowering his voice. "Lucius Malfoy himself…"

Hermione considered him carefully. Lucius Malfoy just _looked_ like a snob. His nose was upturned slightly, so he was always looking down it, and she could see the extravagant expense of his robes and cane from rows away.

"I'm going to go over," Hermione declared.

Blaise gave her a sharp look. "Is that wise?"

"Probably not," Hermione admitted. "But I'm going to anyway."

Blaise sighed, but he followed her as she wound her way through the stacks.

Hermione kept her eyes sharp as she approached, weaving through the bookshelves to arrive next to Draco through them, so it didn't look quite like she'd made a beeline for him, but only found him by happenstance. Not that he would have noticed – Draco's eyes were fixed on the spectacle below.

"They're like animals," Hermione commented, moving to lean over the railing next to him. "All whipped up into a feeding frenzy."

Draco's eyes darted up to her, and his face split into a grin.

"Hermione," he said. His grin dimmed a bit a moment later. "Zabini."

"Draco," Blaise said pleasantly, his eyes glinting.

Draco held Blaise's gaze for a long moment, both of their eyes sharp. Hermione watched, puzzled, before they both broke away and looked down the stairs.

"I can't believe people are lining up to have that fop sign their books," Draco said.

"I can," Blaise commented. "The line is mostly witches. He's considered very attractive, you know."

Hermione scoffed. "Figures."

Blaise cast her a slanted glance. "Blond men not your thing, Hermione?"

Draco stiffened next to her. Hermione carefully kept her eyes on the scene below.

"Frauds and fools aren't my thing," Hermione said coolly. "Have you _read_ any of his books? They're _fiction_ , being passed off as true. I can't respect a person like that."

"I haven't gotten any of the school books yet, so no," Blaise said, smirking. "That's rather what I was here to do."

Draco smirked, and Hermione laughed.

"Fair enough," she conceded.

They watched the crowd for a moment, a photographer taking photos of Lockhart, causing big plumes of smoke each time. Hermione wondered what on earth was in his flash.

Movement on her left caused Hermione to look over to see Draco had stopped watching the crowds below - he was looking at her instead.

"You look nice today, Hermione," he said.

Hermione instantly felt suspicious. "Thank you…?"

"I like your crest," he said, gesturing to her front. "It goes well with your robes."

 _Oh…_

"I like wearing it," Hermione admittedly softly. "I like showing my Slytherin pride. And it's beautiful."

Draco's eyes gleamed. Hermione watched, wondering. What did it mean in pureblood customs, she wondered, if a girl wore your gift of not-jewelry in public? It wasn't _real_ jewelry, so obviously not the same thing, but even the not-jewelry jewelry gift seemed like it must mean _something_ …

"Draco."

A sharp, commanding voice came from the left. Draco jerked, startled, and the three Slytherins turned.

Hermione was careful to keep her expression pleasantly neutral. She watched as Lucius' eyes flashed over them. Draco moved next to his father, turning to face them, his own expression carefully blasé, but his eyes looked worried.

"Mister Zabini," Lucius said, nodding to Blaise.

"Mister Malfoy." Blaise nodded back deeply, just short of a bow. He took a step forward, carefully assuming a casual position at her side. Hermione appreciated the silent support – by standing next to her, he was implying she was of equal status to him, or that he was her escort. Either was a quiet social statement, one she was sure the elder Malfoy would immediately grasp.

Lucius' eyes fell on Hermione, carefully evaluating her. Hermione was suddenly glad she'd traded in her too-short robes for longer ones – nothing she was wearing was something Lucius could fault her for.

"Draco," his father said suddenly, sharply.

Draco's eyes darted to his father. "What?"

"You have yet to introduce us," Hermione said pleasantly, her face betraying nothing of her nerves. Her eyes didn't move from the elder Malfoy's face.

Draco hesitated a moment.

"Father, this is Hermione Granger, a classmate of mine," he said, gesturing. "Hermione, my father, Lucius Malfoy."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Malfoy." Hermione swept him the finest curtsy she could in the robes she was wearing. Lucius' eyebrows rose.

"A pleasure," he drawled. His lip curled. "Granger, is it?"

"It is," Hermione confirmed.

"Of the Dagworth-Grangers?" he asked.

"No, sir." Hermione didn't hesitate. "I am the first of my line."

Lucius gave his son a sharp look, and Hermione could see Draco restrain a wince.

"Hermione is a New Blood, father," Draco said quietly. "I spoke to you of her, before."

Lucius' eyes flashed back to her, before returning to Draco.

"You neglected to mention she was in Slytherin," he said. His voice was chillingly pleasant, and Draco flinched. Hermione felt a shiver over her skin.

"I said she was a classmate," Draco objected.

" _All_ of the first years are your classmates," Lucius informed his son, his voice cold. Draco winced again but nodded.

Hermione watched as Lucius turned back to her, his eyes carefully evaluating.

"I am… _surprised,_ " Lucius Malfoy said, his lip curling, "to find one of Muggle parentage sorted into Slytherin."

"Perhaps it's because I'm New Blood, not Muggle-born," Hermione said, her tone perfectly even and polite.

He raised an eyebrow, looking down his nose at her.

" _New_ Blood?" he said, his tone conveying his disgust.

"A spontaneous outcropping of Magic, blessed by the Fates," Blaise said suddenly. Hermione was surprised at his intervention, but incredibly grateful. "Hermione was not born of a squib line, like the Muggle-born are. She is destined for greatness, and to found a new House."

"Every great house was founded by a New Blood in the beginning," Draco added.

"There's no such thing." Lucius Malfoy said slowly, deliberately. His voice was cold and dismissive.

Hermione smiled sweetly. "Cantankerus Nott would disagree with you."

Lucius' eyes sharpened suddenly.

" _Would_ he now?" he drawled.

Hermione allowed an enigmatic smile to drift about on her lips. She wasn't going to defend her place to him directly – such dramatics were not the Slytherin way. She needed to portray unflappable confidence in her place in the wizarding world. She couldn't allow Mr. Malfoy to shake her.

"I suppose," Lucius Malfoy said finally, "that we shall see."

That sounded vague and ominous. Hermione made a mental note to be careful of anything she touched that came from a Malfoy – she didn't know what would happen if she _did_ touch anything meant to curse anyone not of pure blood.

There was a shout from below, and the crowd burst into applause. They all turned to look down at the crowd. Hermione's eyes were drawn to the front, where she could see Harry standing next to Lockhart, as a photographer capturing the moment.

Even from here, Hermione could see Harry's face burn in embarrassment.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!"

Hermione noticed Draco scowling down and drifting away, down the staircase. His father followed after him, both moving silently. She kept careful track of them, even as she watched Lockhart.

"—have the great pleasure in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd burst into applause, and Hermione gasped and looked to Blaise, horrified.

"He can't be serious," she said. "He _can't_ be. He's a fraud."

"How many people know that, do you think?" Blaise said. He glanced at the size of the crowd. "It looks like not many."

Hermione groaned, clutching her hair and tugging it.

"We're going to learn _nothing_ ," she moaned. "Absolutely _nothing_ this year."

"I bet we'll get excellent lessons on posing and smiling for the camera, though," Blaise commented, teasing, pulling a weak smile from Hermione.

"Yes, excellent, I'll _pose_ and distract evil wizards with my winning smile to defeat them," Hermione said. "This is a brilliant idea."

"It'll be alright, Hermione," Blaise said. He looked at her. "I'm sure you'll teach yourself just fine to keep up with the material. And you can help the rest of us keep up too."

"It's not like there's a set curriculum for Defense, though," Hermione argued. "I'd have no guide to go off of."

"That just means you get to make it up," Blaise pointed out. He winked. "I daresay that's even better."

Hermione considered, then smiled. "I… suppose that's true."

She and Blaise made their way to the staircase, only to see Draco had run into Harry, who had fled from Lockhart as soon as he could. They were glaring at each other, Ginny glaring at Draco as well.

"Potter, you've got yourself a _girlfriend!_ " Draco drawled, and Ron fought his way over to Harry and Ginny.

"Oh, it's you," Ron said, looking at Draco as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

Hermione had no idea why Ron would think Draco would think such a thing.

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all your school books."

Ron went red. Hermione couldn't blame him; she privately thought that was a much better retort than Ron's. Ron started toward Malfoy, but Harry grabbed the back of his jacket.

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley had come over, Fred and George behind him. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

Hermione watched as Mr. Malfoy joined Draco, sneering at the Weasleys.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy said. "All those raids… I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He pulled a second-hand copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ from Ginny's cauldron. It looked extremely battered, and Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for poor Ginny, whose face burned scarlet with embarrassment.

"Obviously not…" Mr. Malfoy drawled.

"What's going on there?" Hermione hissed to Blaise. "I know Draco and Ron hate each other, but their parents, too?"

Blaise shrugged, watching the scene too.

"Might be because the Weasleys are considered blood traitors?" he guessed. "This sounds more personal, though. I wonder if there's some kind of ancient feud."

There was a yell, and Hermione's eyes darted back to see Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him into the bookshelf, dozens of heavy spellbooks thundering down on them all. Someone was cheering him on, someone else was shrieking, the crowd was stampeding backwards, an assistant struggling towards them, begging them to stop.

"Merlin," Hermione breathed, watching. "Did he really…?"

"That's Gryffindors for you," Blaise said. His nose was wrinkled in disgust. "No class or subtlety at all."

Hermione had to agree with him. Brawling in a _book shop_...? It was practically barbaric.

They watched as Hagrid pulled the two men apart. Both of them looked like they'd taken some damage. Mr. Malfoy thrust Ginny's book back at her, leaving with a sharp remark as he and Draco swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," Hagrid was saying. Hermione watched as Mrs. Weasley gathered her children up, bustling them out the door.

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed. "We've forgotten Hermione!"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Hermione heard Ron dismiss, but she was pleased to see Harry fight his way back inside, eyes darting around.

Hermione descended the stairs. "Harry."

Harry's eyes met hers with relief. "Hermione!"

"You okay?" she asked, looking him over. "I saw the fight with Mr. Malfoy."

"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry said. "It was mostly just Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. Though Ron wanted to punch Malfoy pretty badly."

"We could tell." Hermione glanced back at Blaise, descending the staircase behind her. Harry looked to him, then looked to Hermione in confusion. Hermione's mind raced.

"Ah… Harry, this is Blaise Zabini, my classmate in Slytherin," she told him. "Blaise, may I present Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter? In the flesh?" Blaise drawled. His eyes flicked up to Harry's scar. "I would have _never_ known."

Hermione scowled. "Don't be a twit."

"You're a friend of Hermione's?" Harry looked cautious. "I didn't think she had many friends in Slytherin."

Blaise suddenly looked guarded. "Some of the Slytherins might look down on Hermione for her blood status, but it's none of her year anymore."

"Except for Pansy," Hermione said, making a face.

Blaise acknowledged her remark with a reluctant nod of his head. "Except for Pansy."

"But what about the bullying?" Harry asked frowning.

Blaise looked to Hermione sharply. "Bullying?"

Hermione kept her face carefully even.

"When Pansy and the others bullied her," Harry said. At a dark look from Hermione, Harry paused. "Hermione told us it was pretty bad," he continued, more carefully, and Hermione let out a breath of relief that he'd remembered his promise to not mention the torture bit. "I didn't think she had any friends in Slytherin – if she had, I'd've thought they would have stopped it."

" _Hermione_ told you it was bad?" Blaise asked carefully. "Or Hermione told you what happened, and you thought that was pretty bad?"

Harry frowned. Hermione doubted he fully grasped the nuance of what Blaise was asking.

" _Hermione_ said it was bad," Harry stressed. "She wouldn't say exactly what happened, but she said it was bad. She started hanging around with us more. She wanted to avoid the Slytherin common room."

Hermione bit her lip, hard. Blaise's eyes slid to her sideways.

"I didn't realize Hermione had been bullied beyond the ignorant remarks some of the cruder Slytherins make," Blaise said finally, "but I consider Hermione my friend."

"Would you protect her?" Harry asked challengingly.

"Harry!" Hermione objected. "I do not need—"

"Would you?" Harry said again, ignoring Hermione. His eyes held Blaise's. "If it happened again, would you protect her? Would you put a stop to it?"

The statement hung heavy in the air, and Hermione winced. Harry had _no idea_ what he was asking, she knew. To formally ask a pureblood if someone was under their protection…

"I would."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, her eyes darting to Blaise, but he was looking solidly at Harry.

"I would offer her my protection, and I would never knowingly hurt her."

The formality of the words rang in the air. Hermione was reeling, her mind racing, while Harry looked mildly confused.

"That's… that's good," Harry said finally. He stuck out his hand. "Any friend of Hermione's is a friend of mine."

Hermione watched in astonishment as Blaise regarded Harry carefully for a long moment, before grinning.

"Well met, Potter," he said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Friends, then."

They broke apart. Harry seemed satisfied, and Blaise seemed darkly amused.

"Harry!"

Mr. Weasley was waving impatiently from the entrance, looking out over the crowds. Harry winced.

"I've got to go. I'll see you at school, 'Mione?" he said hurriedly. "Bye!"

"See you, Harry!" she called after him, watching as Harry fought his way through the crowds and vanished.

"So…"

Hermione looked over at Blaise, who was giving her a long, slow look.

"When are your parents expecting you back?" Blaise asked pleasantly.

Hermione shrugged. "By nightfall?"

"Excellent," Blaise said. "Walk with me? I still have some things to get." He gave her a look. "And we have a _lot_ to talk about."

The formal words of Blaise's promise still rang heavy in Hermione's ears, and she gave him a measuring look.

"I suppose that we do."


	82. Carkitt Market

Diagon Alley was different in the late afternoon than it had been in the morning. The sun had shifted in the sky enough to cast long shadows from the buildings but was still up enough to give everything a warm glow. Gone were most of the harried shoppers, and nearly all the children were gone as well; instead, well-dressed adults were walking the streets leisurely as if they hadn't a care in the world. Hermione looked around with interest, her bag of books and school supplies swinging at her side as she walked.

"Where did these people all come from?" she asked Blaise. "Most of the shops are closing now, aren't they?"

"A lot of them are," Blaise confirmed. "These are just people out to go for dinner or entertainment, I suspect."

Hermione blinked. "It's not even five o'clock."

Blaise smirked. "What's the point of dressing your best for dinner if you don't take a bit of a stroll beforehand so everyone can see how good you look?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

It was easy to see that these people were more the upper crust of the wizarding world. The robes were exquisitely tailored and detailed, and they were made from fabrics that looked expensive. Hermione's green robes were very nice, sure, but they were nothing next to the elegant green silk robes of a nearby witch, strolling along on the arm of a wizard wearing a cloak of blue velvet.

"I half expect to see the women strolling along with parasols," Hermione murmured, watching.

Blaise shot her a befuddled look. "What's a parasol?"

Hermione laughed but shook her head, and Blaise shrugged and let it drop. He guided her around the corner near Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, and Hermione stopped short at the street spilling out in front of her.

"…what's this?"

Blaise gave her a funny look. "Horizont Alley."

Hermione stared at him. "…you're not serious?"

"Did you think Diagon Alley was all the wizarding world had to offer?" Blaise asked her, now looking amused. "You never ventured past all the shops down here?"

"No," Hermione admitted. "This is… this is beautiful."

While Diagon Alley had charming shops and storefronts, Horizont Alley seemed much more laid back than its counterpoint. There were charming dining areas set out on the street in front of restaurants, all of which looked _much_ nicer than the Leaky Cauldron. There were shops still on this street too, but they looked different – classier, fancier. Twilfitt and Tattings looked more like a chic boutique than the general all-purpose robes of Madame Malkin's. Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment looked considerably more specialized and higher-scale than any of the other shops she had seen selling wizarding devices. And… was that a _theater_ , there?

"Come on," Blaise said, taking her hand and pulling her along.

He rounded another corner, and the street opened up into a large square. Blaise took her over to an outdoor seating area in front of a large place called The Hopping Pot.

"Here," he said. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He vanished into the building, and Hermione used the chance to look around.

The large square seemed nice, Hermione evaluated – not quite as busy and as frantic as Diagon Alley, but also not as trendy and upscale as Horizont Alley. A nearby sign declared the square 'Carkitt Market', and not for the first time, Hermione wondered at the wizarding world's odd trends in naming things. There were many people strolling around, several of them stopping to chat with acquaintances around the square as they encountered each other. It felt like something out a period piece.

"Here."

Hermione turned to see Blaise returning, carrying two cups with him. He sat down across from her and pushed one across to her. The cup was warm in her hands, and the liquid inside smelled sweet.

"What's this?" Hermione asked.

"Warm butterbeer," Blaise told her. "It's good – different from the cold kind, but still very good."

Hermione had never heard of butterbeer before, let alone tried the cold kind. The liquid was warm and sweet, and it reminded her strongly of hot cocoa, only instead of chocolate, this was flavored with butterscotch. Hermione took another slow sip, letting the warmth spread through her throat and chest before putting the cup back down.

"Thank you. This is really good," Hermione said, and Blaise grinned.

"It is, isn't it?" Blaise said. "I prefer it to the cold kind, actually."

Blaise was much more relaxed around her now than he had been in school and in Flourish and Blotts, Hermione noted. He smiled easier, with actual grins instead of just smirks, and he seemed looser, less formal. She wondered if Blaise ever felt stifled by needing to behave in a very particular way in school and in Slytherin. She knew _she_ did, and she often took refuge in relaxing around Harry and Neville, but she didn't know if Blaise had any friends not in Slytherin he could relax with.

"So," Hermione said finally, idly stirring her drink. "I'm officially under your protection now, am I?"

She was half-expecting Blaise to sit up and grow more formal. Offers of protection in pureblood society were not a thing tossed about lightly. But to her surprise, Blaise offered her a lazy smirk.

"Do you want to be?" he teased.

He winked, and Hermione flushed, prompting a laugh from him.

"Relax, Hermione," he told her, smiling. "It doesn't have to be some big production. I mean, it can if you want it to be, but it doesn't _need_ to be."

"Are you even authorized to make such an offer?" Hermione said, giving him a look. "From what I understand, these things involve the heads of families."

"I'm the head of the Zabini line," Blaise told her, quirking an eyebrow. "My Father died when I was two, you know. And the Zabini line is patriarchal. I mean, my mother's functionally the head right now while I'm underage, but officially, I am."

Hermione's first instinct was to offer him her sympathies for the loss of his father, only to remember that his mother had probably poisoned his father and caused his death. She doubted Blaise would want to address something so charged in public.

"Are some lines _not_ patriarchal?" Hermione questioned.

Blaise shrugged. "Sure. Not many of them, granted, but some are matriarchal. The Shafiq family is the highest-standing one that I know of. I think the Bones too, maybe?" He considered a moment, before shooting her a smirk. "And, presumably, yours."

Hermione smirked, and Blaise smirked back. She liked that he knew her well enough to know she'd never give up her name for anyone else. Not after she was so determined to establish the name of Granger as its own Great House.

"So we're both the heads of our respective families," Blaise said, shrugging. "If you wanted to do a formal protection thing, we could. Or we can keep it loose and informal."

Hermione got the impression that Blaise generally preferred keeping things looser than the other purebloods of Slytherin. "What would that mean?"

"I mean, I'd still watch out for you, same as a formal agreement," Blaise said, "but I'd do it because I _want_ to, not because of a formal magical agreement between two houses. There wouldn't be any magical consequences if I _didn't_ try to protect you, like there would be with a formal thing, but then you also wouldn't have to swear fealty to House Zabini in order to be under its protection."

Hermione pulled back with a scowl. "Swear fealty? To _you?_ "

Blaise smirked. "I didn't think you'd like that part."

Hermione considered, weighing the matter in her mind.

"We're both underage, so I'm not even sure if we can legally enter into binding agreements," she told him. "I think it's best we keep this informal, at least for now–"

"No problem by me," Blaise said with a smirk.

"–but it will be a _mutual_ agreement," Hermione told him. "If I'm under your protection, you have to be under mine."

"I'll be under you _anytime_ , Hermione," Blaise flirted, prompting a laugh from Hermione even as her face colored.

"No – really. Blaise, I don't _need_ you to protect me—"

"That's not what Potter said," Blaise muttered.

"—so if we're going to do this, it will be as _equals_ ," Hermione informed him. "I will watch out for you, if you watch out for me."

"That's not really an offer of protection then though," Blaise argued. "That's more of an alliance."

"Then we'll be in an alliance of sorts," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "If we still protect each other, does the terminology really matter? Or just the end result?"

Blaise looked like he was wanted to object again. Hermione bit her lip, before trying a different tactic.

"Besides, we wouldn't call it an alliance, Blaise," she said softly, looking up to meet his eyes with hers. "We'd call it 'being friends'."

Blaise's eyes widened slightly, before his face softened.

"Alright, Hermione," he said with a sigh. He gave her a look. "But this means you have to tell me if you get seriously bullied again."

"Fine by me," she said, satisfied. Hermione had no problems with that. If she could have someone to count on when going up against those who had bullied her, she'd be much less likely to come out such an incident half-bloodied and weak.

"Blaise!"

A voice called out from across the market, and Blaise's back went ramrod straight. He let out a low groan, and Hermione gave him a quizzical look as she turned to see who had called out to him.

An absolutely striking woman was approaching him, a smile on her lips. Her robes were stunning, a deep violet velvet embroidered with small floral designs in silver thread, and they fit her in a very flattering fashion before flaring at the hips. She wore her hair loose in shining black waves down her back. Her eyes were a deep purple, and Hermione's eyes flickered back and forth from Blaise's face to the woman's, cataloguing the similar shape of their eyes, the identical slopes of their noses, and their black, wavy hair.

Blaise stood, reluctant. Hermione stood a moment afterward.

"Mother, may I present to you Miss Hermione Granger?" he said, gesturing. "Hermione is one of my classmates in Slytherin. Hermione, may I present my mother, Elora Zabini."

Hermione swept her a curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Zabini."

"Miss Granger," the woman said. She gave Hermione an evaluating look, taking in her hair and robes. "Are you and my son close?"

Hermione hesitated, not sure how to answer that.

"I would count Blaise among my closest friends," she told her honestly. "I was thrilled to run into him at Flourish and Blott's. As much as I treasure his letters, they still don't quite compare to talking to him in person."

The woman's eyes widened, a mischievous sparkle lighting them up.

"So _you're_ who he's been writing to all summer," she said, with no little satisfaction.

Blaise groaned. "Mum—"

"Hush, Blaise," she told him. "You have been so wrapped up trading secret letters all summer without telling me who they were for. I'm not about to miss the opportunity to get to better know your new _friend_."

Blaise's face flamed, and he looked down at the table while his mother took the seat to his left. Hermione sat back down on her side of the table cautiously, not quite sure what she was getting into.

"So, you are Hermione Granger," his mother prompted. "Of the Dagworth-Grangers?"

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Zabini," Hermione said. "I'm not—"

The beautiful woman cut her off with a wave of her hand, before giving her a beautifully puzzled look.

"Mizz?" she questioned. "What is Mizz?"

"Ah," Hermione said, faltering. "It's… it's a title of respect for a woman that doesn't depend on her marital state."

Ms. Zabini continued to look politely puzzled, and Hermione elaborated, hesitant.

"The title 'Miss' is only used when a woman is unmarried," she said. "And 'Mrs.' is only appropriate when a woman is married. The title 'Ms.' is used for a woman regardless of her marital status." She paused. "It's especially useful when you don't know what other term of address would be appropriate for a woman, or if you prefer not to define women by their relationships with men."

Ms. Zabini stared at her for a long moment, before she began to laugh. Her laughter was rich and charming, and Hermione felt a stab of jealousy. She wished _she_ sounded like that when she laughed, instead of like some weird human-hyena hybrid like she sometimes feared.

"Oh, I _like_ this one," Ms. Zabini declared to her son. Blaise's face reddened further, and he sank lower down in his chair. Ms. Zabini turned back to Hermione. "Anyway, you were saying…"

"Ah, that I'm not of the Dagworth-Grangers, ma'am," Hermione replied. "Just the Grangers."

Ms. Zabini tilted her head. "Is that a branch family?"

"It's _not_ , mother," Blaise groaned. "Mum, just leave it."

Ms. Zabini raised her eyebrows. "A half-blood, then," she said, dismissive.

"New Blood, actually," Hermione corrected, taking a deep breath to settle her irritation. "If we must discuss such crass things as _bloodlines_ in the open streets."

"'Crass'?" Ms. Zabini said, giving Hermione a sharp look.

"I was under the impression you were interested in meeting your son's _new friend_ , not in determining her _breeding potential_ ," Hermione shot back.

Ms. Zabini recoiled, as if stung. "I was only inquiring after your heritage—"

"You _were_ , until you presumed to remark I must be a half-blood," Hermione said, her voice strong. "There is a decided _difference_ between asking because you think you might be familiar with someone's family, and presuming certain things about them based on something so arbitrary as _blood."_

Hermione held Ms. Zabini's gaze steadily. Neither of them faltered.

"Hermione is a New Blood, mother," Blaise said quietly from her side. "She's the first of her line."

Ms. Zabini broke away to look at Blaise, frowning. "First of her line?"

"She's to be the founder of the Granger House," Blaise said. "Magic itself touched her directly. There's a prophecy about it and everything."

Mrs. Zabini turned back to Hermione, her gaze now calculating.

"I've never heard of a _New Blood_ before," she said.

"I'm not surprised, Ms. Zabini," Hermione said blandly. "There hasn't been one for centuries, after all."

"But you claim you are-?"

"I broke Dumbledore's Transfiguration record my first day of classes," Hermione said, smiling wanly. "I earned the highest marks in my class this year. I'm not just _claiming_ anything, Ms. Zabini – I'm _declaring_."

A family at a nearby table got up and left next to them, and the young child haphazardly tossed its cup in the direction of the trash bin, uncaring that it missed. Hermione scowled, and with a gesture, the cup flew up and into the trash can. Hermione despised it when people littered.

"Hermione's been sorted into Slytherin," Blaise stressed. " _Slytherin_ , mother. You don't really think the Sorting Hat would sort her there if she were just some Muggle-born, do you?"

Hermione highly doubted she was the only person with Muggle parents to ever be sent to Slytherin. She suspected ones who had gone before her claimed to be halfbloods - the result of illicit affairs with wizards, perhaps. But if Blaise wanted to presume, he could.

Ms. Zabini was looking thoughtful, her eyes on the cup Hermione had thrown away.

"I have never heard of such a thing before," she said slowly, "but that does not mean it does not exist. And my son seems quite taken with you."

She settled a brilliant smile on Hermione, and Hermione felt her breath taken away. No wonder Blaise's mother had managed to snag seven husbands, even with her history – she was truly beautiful, the kind of beauty that men sailed ships for and went to war over.

"Now," Ms. Zabini said, smiling, her eyes sparkling and devious. "Do tell me about what all my son gets up to in school."


	83. Anxieties

Hermione's trip to Diagon Alley had been eventful. By the time Ms. Zabini had let her leave, after embarrassing Blaise with stories about him as a child (that Hermione privately thought were adorable), it had been nearly dinner time, and she'd had to hurry home to get back in time for supper. Her parents had been slightly worried, but they were pleased to hear that she'd run late because she was meeting her friends' parents. Good manners were very important to the Grangers, and Hermione could tell they were proud that she'd made sure to introduce herself to the adults she had met.

The summer resumed and carried on much as it had been – she went to her internship and read all day, and she practiced her magic and flying in the back yard. She was getting solidly better at flying, now. If she was very careful, she could slowly levitate herself straight up about six feet and straight back down. It was _exhausting_ , trying to tamper down on the excited air elemental still dancing around inside of her, but Hermione was slowly getting the hang of it. She was at least confident of her gliding ability – if she ever fell off a broom or was thrown off the Ravenclaw tower, she'd be able to glide safely back down to the ground.

Blaise's letters changed after his mother had met her, and Hermione wondered if she was reading them over before he sent them. He was still ridiculous and over the top in them, but he told stories she suspected were true, now, instead of fanciful, obviously false tales. The story of Draco falling prey to a trick wand that had enchanted his robes to be pink and purple with a large, florid theme had sounded all too real. She could practically imagine Draco storming around, demanding someone fix his robes while Blaise and Theo laughed hysterically. She wondered if the three boys visited each other regularly over the summer, and if they visited Gregory and Vincent as well. With Floo powder making magical travel easy, she imagined they probably did.

The difficulty lay with the fact that because Blaise was now telling her truthful stories in his letters, she felt obliged to reply in kind. Only… Hermione wasn't spending the summer doing exciting things with her friends, practicing Quidditch, or playing pranks – she was spending it reading for her internship, reading other magic after she got home, and practicing drawing her own ritual circles. She was well aware that none of those things were particularly interesting to describe in a letter. Theo might have been interested, but he _liked_ magical theory, and maybe even Draco would be curious, as he _had_ somehow come in second in the class. Hermione wasn't terribly close with them, though – she was friends with _Blaise_ , who was easy-going, outrageous, flirty, and fun, and Hermione sincerely doubted he'd want to read about how she spent all day experimenting with ritual circles and triangles with sidewalk chalk on the patio.

She eventually wrote back her own stories of exciting wizarding things she had done earlier in the summer. She told him about rescuing Harry with the Weasleys from his Muggle relatives' house, though she didn't go into details about how they'd flown off with him in an illegally-enchanted _car_ instead of on brooms. She mentioned the Weasley twins approaching her about working with them, as well as how curt Mrs. Weasley had been to her. However, Hermione had a dearth of wizarding stories to write back to Blaise about, so it was with that in mind that she reached out to Neville, inviting him to meet her at Diagon Alley the next weekend to visit, figuring to kill two birds with one stone: to see a good friend, and to get a story out of it as well.

Neville had happily accepted, though he warned her his grandmother would be lurking around, as he wasn't allowed to go to Diagon Alley alone. He asked if she wanted to meet for tea at 3 o'clock, which sounded nice, but wouldn't exactly make a good _story_. Hermione crossed her fingers that something _interesting_ would happen. It was the wizarding world; it wasn't exactly unheard of for unexpected things to crop up.

Harry was still staying at the Weasleys' for the rest of the summer, and he sent her letters by owl, now, like the rest of her friends. He expressed his happiness for her and her internship, teasing her that there was no other job she'd be best suited for. Harry seemed to be spending his summer playing Quidditch in the back yard with the Weasleys, doing chores to help out around the Burrow, and hanging out with Ron. Hermione urged Harry to be sure to finish his summer homework, and she was proud of him when he responded that he already had.

Hermione felt mildly apprehensive about Harry spending so much time with the Weasleys, especially with Ron. She knew that Harry and Ron shared a dormitory at Hogwarts, but somehow, Harry staying at Ron's house felt different. There was a measure of worry there, that Ron would convince Harry that Hermione was evil and brainwash him into not wanting to be her friend anymore, and she would be tossed to the side. Hermione believed in Harry, remembering his fierceness as he confronted Blaise about being her friend, but she could recognize her old insecurities were tugging at her nevertheless.

Hermione spent a lot of the summer thinking about her friends and missing them. Friends had never come easily to her, and the ones she'd managed to make, she cherished. She wasn't comfortable going to their houses to visit them, but she longed for the time when she would be.

It wasn't until Hermione was reading a letter from Harry, where Harry mentioned that Ron's younger sister, Ginny, was anxious about getting sorted, that Hermione realized what that meant.

 _Ginny_ was younger.

There would be new first years coming to Hogwarts, now.

And that meant Luna Lovegood would finally arrive at school.

* * *

Hermione Granger had a lot of complicated feelings about Luna Lovegood.

Not the bad kind. Just… tangled ones.

On one hand, Luna had been the one to offer the prophecy of her being a New Blood. Her words and her help in Flourish and Blotts two years ago had been what put Hermione on the path she was on. That power Luna had, of glimpsing the future… that intimidated Hermione. She had a vague understanding of how the wizarding world viewed time, but it was still impressive and eerie that some people could see the future. Hermione felt somewhat awed by Luna, in a way, and had mentally put her on a sort of pedestal.

But on the other hand, Hermione had _liked_ Luna. Luna had helped her pick out school books, and she'd helped her get her start in the wizarding world. Hermione _wanted_ to be friends with her – real friends, not a worshipful-type one. And Luna had _said_ they could be the best of friends, hadn't she? So surely she wouldn't mind if Hermione treated her like a friend, and not with reverence?

But it had been years. They'd met two years ago. What if Luna didn't remember her?

What if she didn't want to be friends after all?

What if she had changed?

Hermione hadn't been good at making friends at Muggle school. She'd been terrible at it, actually. She'd managed to get Harry and Neville to be her friends by deliberately picking them out and making a conscious effort to be friends, and then informing them that she wanted to _be_ their friends. She got lucky with them, she felt – neither Harry nor Neville seemed to have ever had good friends either, before, so they just stuck with her by default.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she'd pulled off making friends in Hogwarts with others without trying to. She supposed a lot of it was she was finally surrounded by people _like_ her, who didn't designate her as weird or _other_ , like the muggles had done in primary school. Hermione had managed to make a few close friends in Slytherin, in addition to Harry and Neville, and she was friendly acquaintances with several Ravenclaws and most of the rest of the Slytherins in her year, too. It was more than she'd ever managed before, and Hermione was glad of it. But that had developed over the course of a year. With Luna…

It was frustrating. It felt like it was supposed to be _different_ , somehow, their friendship. Like it was supposed to magically just snap into place, fully formed. Like they would go from separate individuals to trusted confidants in a moment, magically.

Hermione reflected that she had probably been hoping for too much back when she first met Luna. She had _no_ friends then, and Luna's promise of being her friend had meant the world to Hermione. That fierce emotion was still there, when she thought of Luna – of someone _wanting_ to be _her_ friend – and Hermione still held that desire tight.

But she had no idea if Luna felt the same.

It was a really, really weird feeling, wanting desperately to be the friend of someone you barely knew, and Hermione didn't like it. She also despised herself that she'd been too anxious to ever send Luna a letter; surely, Luna would be more comfortable with becoming her friend if Hermione had kept in contact with her over the two years since they'd met. But Hermione never had.

As best as she could, Hermione put the matter from her mind. Either Luna would still want to be her friend, or she wouldn't. Hermione was determined to be okay and accept it no matter what.

Though, that didn't stop her from going along with her mother to Muggle London one day and picking out a few silver charms, hoping she'd be able to hook them onto the bracelet she'd given away in a magical bookshop so long ago.


	84. The Effects of Well-Placed Gossip

Hermione wore the same green robe to Diagon Alley that she had before, taking all her other robes with her to trade with Madame Malkin before Neville arrived for tea. Madame Malkin had rolled her eyes but exchanged them, and Hermione happily paid her the difference and stashed the new robes into her bag.

The weather was pleasant, so Hermione and Neville took tea outside of a small shop on Diagon Alley. Neville was visibly happy to see her.

"I don't get to see my friends much," Neville admitted. "My Grandmother isn't big on having people to the manor. She's very strict. I was lucky that she left me here so she could do 'ladies' shopping', but I have to meet her at the Leaky at 5 o'clock sharp to go home."

"Have you seen _anyone_ over the summer?" Hermione asked.

"I saw Seamus a couple weeks ago, I think? But I just ran into him at Gringotts. Not like a planned thing or anything."

"Oh! That reminds me!"

Hermione rummaged around in her bag, withdrawing a box and handing it to Neville, who opened it carefully.

"This is… our school books for the year?" Neville asked. He looked up at her, confused. "Thanks, Hermione. I mean, I was going to get these later myself, but-"

"I didn't buy them," Hermione interrupted. "I _made_ them."

Neville's eyes got wide.

"You _made_ them?" he said. "That's- what- _how_ - _?_ "

"My summer internship is at the publisher's. They let me keep whatever books I could copy one day," Hermione told him proudly. "I made sets for my friends."

Though she'd also made sets for the Weasleys. Hermione didn't exactly count them as 'friends,' but she definitely didn't mind having them feeling like they owed her one.

"That's awesome, Hermione!" Neville exclaimed. "Good for you! Wizarding publishing isn't easy, from what I've heard. I'm impressed you can do it already."

Hermione chatted happily with Neville about her internship, about how she got to read books all day, and how she'd read their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's latest book.

"He's a fraud," Hermione told him, fierce. "A _fraud,_ Neville. His books have contradicting information, and their timelines clash with each other. I can't believe he's going to _teach_ us."

"Dumbledore didn't have much of a choice," Neville told her grimly. "After the mess with Quirrell last year… parents were _mad_ , Hermione. You-Know-Who teaching their children… there was an inquiry at the Ministry and everything."

"Wait, _what?_ " Hermione gaped at him. "How have I not heard about this before?"

"Sealed Wizengamot session," Neville said. "My grandmother holds a seat. She told me everything. It was a scandal, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot being summoned for an inquiry."

"So what happened?" Hermione asked. "He… got called in?"

"Apparently, when everyone went home, a bunch of students told their parents what had happened with Quirrell," Neville said. "Enough parents checked with each other, and when they realized that all the stories were consistent, they realized there must be some truth to it – even with the You-Know-Who part."

It had never occurred to Hermione that students would go home and tell their parents that the Dark Lord had been at Hogwarts. When she'd been retelling the tale to everyone, she'd just been focused on providing accurate information so the rumor mill didn't end up spinning things out of control. But with the whole story being known by more than just a few people…

And in this case, the truth was probably stranger and more horrifying than any fiction the rumor mill could have made up.

"The Wizengamot called a closed session. Dumbledore had to answer questions from everyone." Neville paused. "Apparently, a lot of the more Slytherin Pureblooded families were _really_ upset – the Malfoys, the Notts, the Greengrasses."

"You sound surprised," Hermione commented. "Why does that surprise you?"

Neville gave her a wry smile.

"If anyone _wouldn't_ be upset about You-Know-Who teaching students, I imagine it'd be them," Neville told her. "They… those families have Dark associations and reputations left over from the war."

The Malfoys and the Notts, Hermione had known; Ron had regularly ranted about Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott being baby Death Eaters in training.

"The Greengrasses, too?" Hermione asked. "I didn't realize they were associated with the Dark."

"They were close with a few families that went Dark, and they kind of got stained by association, I think," Neville said. "The Blacks, the Notts, the Carrows…"

"So what did they ask Dumbledore?" Hermione wanted to know. "I didn't think the Ministry had control over Hogwarts."

"It _doesn't._ Not really. But because it became a 'safety of the children' issue, they hauled Dumbledore in to question him." Neville sipped his tea. "In the end, they ruled it was unreasonable to expect Dumbledore to have known Quirrell had gotten possessed by You-Know-Who over the summer; Quirrell had taught Muggle Studies for years beforehand with no issues. But public outcry was still high enough that Dumbledore needed to appoint a teacher that no one could object to for Defense Against the Dark Arts this time around."

"So he chooses a _fiction writer?_ " Hermione scoffed.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is really famous, Hermione," Neville said, shrugging. "He probably _did_ do the things he wrote about, and then just exaggerated them to make a better story. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Hermione laughed. "You're too trusting, Neville."

"You're not trusting enough, Hermione," Neville teased her back, though his face flushed. "At least give him the benefit of the doubt."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, sipping her tea. She didn't think she was being unreasonable, but she supposed it wouldn't _hurt_ anything to try and keep an open mind before going into Lockhart's class the first time.

"I guess," she finally conceded. "Though I hope he can at least teach us _some_ things. I want to learn the Patronus Charm – I read about it over the summer, and it seems like a really good thing to know offhand. I want to learn the shield charm, too."

"As a second year?" Neville laughed. "You're crazy, Hermione. We won't cover those for another few years. I doubt I'll be able to get them even then."

Hermione looked at Neville quizzically. "Why not?"

Neville looked at her uncertainly. "…because it's me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, confused. "Why wouldn't you be able to learn them?"

"Oh." Neville looked down at the table. "I forgot. You're… we're not in many classes together, are we?"

He looked down at the table, and a silence fell over them. Hermione looked at Neville carefully, taking in his quiet, subdued manner.

"Not really," Hermione said neutrally. "I think they try to keep Gryffindors and Slytherins on separate schedule tracks deliberately."

"Ah. That's probably smart. Well…" Neville took a deep breath, then looked at Hermione, determined. "I'm not a very good wizard, Hermione."

He looked so serious, with such a brave face on, like he was scared she was going to reject him, that Hermione forced herself to bite back her instinctive reaction – which was to laugh.

"I don't believe that for a second," Hermione said instead, decisively. "Neville, why would you _say_ such a thing?"

"Because it's _true_ ," Neville said. He looked upset. "I'm always last to learn new spells in class, Hermione. My homework marks are what helped me pass Charms and Transfiguration. Herbology is the only thing I'm really good in. I just… I don't have enough magic to really use my wand."

Neville looked so ashamed that Hermione could only just stare at him in silence.

There was no way Neville could be that bad of a wizard, Hermione thought. There just was no way. A large part of learning magic, it seemed, was just practice and determination, and Neville had that in spades. He did well in Herbology, and it seemed like the more powerful a witch or wizard you were, the more your plants flourished. And if Hermione could tutor _Vincent Crabbe_ and _Gregory Goyle_ enough to pass their Charms practical, there was _no way_ Neville couldn't do the same.

Hermione gave Neville an evaluating look, considering what he'd told her. Neville squirmed under her gaze.

"Do you have your wand on you?" she said finally.

"Of course." Neville looked surprised. "Why?"

"Can I see your wand?" Hermione said, gesturing. "If you're only struggling in the classes that use your wand, maybe it's broken."

"You- you want to see my _wand?_ " Neville blushed a brilliant red, but handed it over to Hermione, not meeting her eyes. "H-Here."

Hermione didn't know if it was a societal no-no to hold someone else's wand or if she'd unknowingly stepped into a well-known wizarding innuendo, but judging from Neville's reaction, she guessed it was one of the two. She blushed a bit herself, but she tried to force the embarrassment from her mind.

Neville's wand was longish and worn, the handle smoothed and faded. There were no obvious chips or cracks, though it looked well-used. Hermione considered carefully, examining it.

"What is it?" she said finally. "Unicorn hair?"

"I think a dragon heartstring?" Neville ventured. "I know it's oak, though."

"You're not sure?" Hermione was surprised. "Ollivander didn't tell you?"

"I didn't get it from Ollivander," Neville said. "It was my father's."

Hermione stared.

"Neville," she said flatly. "That's why."

Neville blinked. "Why what?"

"Why you're having trouble with your magic," Hermione said, exasperated. "Neville, a wand has to choose _you_. A wand isn't something you can just _inherit_."

Neville looked miserable. "My Grandmother gave it to me. She said I needed to live up to my father's legacy. If I can't use it, it's because I can't live up to it."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "That's like giving a brilliant violinist a flute and demanding they make music with it. The musician's certainly _capable_ of producing beautiful music, but they need _the right tool_ in order to do so."

Neville stared at her, something like hope flickering in the back of his eyes.

"I… you really think so?" he ventured.

"I _know_ so," Hermione asserted. "Neville, we're going to have to get you a new wand. Now."

"My Grandmother will never go for it," Neville objected. "She'll say I'm disgracing my family, not using my father's wand."

"Then we won't _tell_ her," Hermione argued. "Neville, this is a _big deal_. You _need_ your own wand."

"Inheriting someone else's wand is done all the time, though," Neville tried. "Ron uses one of his older brother's old wands."

"You're using _Ron Weasley_ as your standard for academic excellence?!" Hermione threw her hands up. "I can't believe this!"

Neville's face bloomed with color.

"…okay," he admitted. "Not really."

Hermione took a deep breath, before letting it out in a sigh.

"What's really going on, Neville?" she asked quietly. "The issue isn't _actually_ your grandmother, is it? If it was, I'm sure we could come up with a plan where you got your current wand broken in a heroic manner – or even fake a broken wand while you hide this one away as a keepsake. But it seems like _you_ don't want to get a new wand. Why not?"

Neville bit his lip, looking down into his murky tea.

"It's okay, Neville," Hermione said softly, laying a hand on top of his. "You can tell me anything."

Neville looked up at her, and Hermione was shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes.

"What if I get one and I'm still a terrible wizard, Hermione?" Neville's voice quavered. "What if I get a new wand, and everything's _worse?_ "

"Then at least we'll know, Neville," she said gently. "It's always better to know."

Neville sighed, rubbing his eyes fiercely.

"Everyone's always told me I'm a terrible wizard," Neville said miserably. "My family thought I was practically a Squib. I don't think– Hermione, it won't work."

"Then do it for me," Hermione said. "Neville. _Neville._ Look at me."

Her tone was commanding, and Neville looked back at her immediately.

"Do this as a favor for me," Hermione said. "If you never use the wand ever again, fine. That's your choice. But come with me and at least get one. Alright?"

Neville looked uncertain, then resigned.

"Only because you're a friend, Hermione," he said. "In the name of our friendship, I will. But don't be disappointed when it doesn't work."

"We'll see," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes as she stood. She fished a couple galleons out of her bag to leave on the table and looked at Neville expectantly.

"What?" Neville scrambled. " _Now?_ "

"No time like the present," Hermione said pleasantly. "And the tea was cold, anyway."

Neville stood and followed her, mumbling something about warming charms, but Hermione paid him no mind, sweeping toward Ollivander's, Neville hurrying to catch up.

"How are you so fast?" Neville wanted to know, and Hermione laughed.

"I've already hit my growth spurt," she said. "It'll be done soon, I think, if it hasn't finished already. But my legs are longer, now."

"I wish I was taller," Neville said, and Hermione shrugged.

"You have time; you'll get there," she said. "You probably won't hit your growth spurt for another year or two, and then you'll get a lot taller."

Neville gave her an odd look. "Growth spurt?"

Hermione stopped short.

"Yes, your growth spurt," she said slowly. "When you hit puberty. One of the first things that happens is your body begins to change from a boy's into a man's."

Neville's eyes were wide.

"And that's… that's called puberty?"

Her eyes widened in astonishment.

"…yes. That's called puberty."

As she pushed open the door to the wand shop, Hermione despaired, wondering if Hogwarts had anything akin to a Sex Ed class for the students to take.

Ollivander's shop was dusty and dingy as ever. Neville jumped a little when Ollivander emerged from the back. Hermione entertained herself by looking at the wand holsters on the wall while Ollivander went through his "the wand chooses the wizard" spiel with Neville, who was quietly shaking.

When Ollivander went into the back, Hermione turned to face Neville.

"It'll be fine, Neville," she reassured him. "This might take a while, but Ollivander will help you find the wand that suits you best."

Ollivander emerged from the back.

"Twelve and a quarter, holly, unicorn tail hair. Try it."

Neville waved the wand, and a box fell off the shelf. Ollivander snatched it back.

"Eleven and a half, elm, dragon heart string."

A blast of smoke went off, sending everyone into a coughing fit.

"Not that one either," Ollivander muttered. "Try this…"

Hermione watched as Neville obligingly waved wand after wand for a while, each wand misfiring as it was tried. When Ollivander ran out of them for him to try and had to return to the back shelves for more, Neville looked back at Hermione, anxiety written across his face.

"Is it normally like this?" he asked. "When wands don't match up properly?"

Hermione winced. "Ah… the magic misfires, yes. Sometimes things break."

"Break?" Neville looked frightened, not even paying attention as Ollivander muttered at his side, handing him a new wand, which produced a sad red spark and was quickly snatched away.

"Not the wand, or you," Hermione assured him. "Just… Ollivander's light globes, sometimes. There's a reason this store is so dark and dingy."

Neville looked torn, with part of him horrified, and another part painfully relieved.

"At least it's not just _me,_ " Neville said, waving another wand. A loud _bang_ sounded as several boxes were blown off the shelves. "If everyone's magic does all these crazy things before they find the right wand..."

"Thirteen and a quarter, alder, phoenix feather core," Ollivander said. "Try."

Neville took the wand, Hermione watched with satisfaction as an expression of shock and epiphany spread over his face. When he waved the wand, a shower of brilliant sparks and glittering lights came out, drifting softly to the ground.

Neville turned to face Hermione, his face open, reverent. "This… you…"

Hermione was smug.

"Remember this feeling the next time you doubt me, yes?" she teased. "Hermione's always right."

"That'll be seven galleons," Ollivander informed him, looking around at the mess Neville had made. "Now get out of my shop."


	85. Summer's End

The summer seemed to last far too long, but also end far too quickly, and Hermione felt torn. She loved her internship, she loved reading books and marking them all day, and she even loved doing whatever odd errands Mr. Vitac had her running, but Hermione also longed to go back to Hogwarts - where she could study and practice more openly, where she could ask questions of her teachers, and where she had access to the library. She missed her classes, she missed her professors, and she desperately missed her friends.

On the last day of her internship, Hermione was surprised with a cake and a party by her coworkers, complete with a small wrapped gift of a stuffed dragon.

"Go on, go on!" Cadmus Vitac said. "Blow out the candles!"

"It's not my birthday," Hermione objected.

"All cakes need candles," he declared, scoffing. "Now blow them out!"

Hermione obligingly blew out the candles, and her coworkers cheered. Someone cut up the cake, passing out pieces, and Hermione smiled as they all talked around the break room, relaxing and happy. Even if they were only happy for the break and the cake, she felt fond of her coworkers, even the grousing ones. Hermione had learned a lot over the summer.

"If you want to come back next summer, let me know," Cadmus said, clapping her on the shoulder soundly. "Severus made your contract only for this summer, but I'm sure we can draw up another one and do this again!"

"We'll see," Hermione said, smiling. "I really enjoyed this. Thank you so much for the opportunity."

Cadmus assured her that he would be more than happy to write her a letter of recommendation if she would ever need it, Michael gave her a hug, and Hermione waved good-bye to a cheering crowd at the end of the day, everyone wishing her good luck with her second year.

Her portkey dropped her off at home in her living room, for the last time, and there was a solemn quiet in the house. Hermione's lip quivered, and she threw herself onto the couch, bursting into tears.

Her parents were surprised to come home and find their daughter clutching the small stuffed dragon to her on the sofa, sniffing, tears still quietly streaming down her face. Hermione could see her parents exchange a look, before her father went to the kitchen and her mother moved to sit down next to her, gathering Hermione into her arms without a word. Hermione's arms snuck around her mother's waist and hugged her close, and her mother sighed, stroking her hair.

"I don't even know why I'm crying," Hermione said, her voice wobbly. "It's just – everyone was so nice, and they even got me a cake-"

"Sshh, love, it's okay," her mother said, shifting her so Hermione was lying down on the couch, her head in her lap. Hermione let her eyes close, her mother playing gently with her hair still, soothing her. "Change is always hard, even good changes."

"I _want_ to go back to school," Hermione stressed. "I don't know why I'm so sad about it!"

"Feelings don't always make sense," her mother said gently. "And that's _okay_. Sometimes they just need to be let out. You're very mature for a twelve-year-old, Hermione, but you're still a growing girl. There's a lot of new emotions and feelings coming your way, and they're not going to make much sense to you at first."

"New emotions?" Hermione asked.

"Your hormones are changing your ability to feel feelings, giving you a greater depth of emotion," her mother told her. "Right now, you probably feel most of the basic emotions – happiness, sadness, anger, love, disgust, envy, surprise, trust."

"And there are more?"

"They're more combinations of all the others in some form of fashion," her mother elaborated. "Falling in love, for example, will be new for you. Heartbreak will be another one. Betrayal, unfortunately. Depression. Indignation. Shame. Pity. Hatred. Dejection. Devotion."

"They all sound _bad_ ," Hermione complained, and her mother laughed.

"Maybe, but they're part of being human, Hermione," she said. "It's important to accept them as part of being a person, and when you're feeling something new and strange to realize it, pause, try and identify it, acknowledge it, and move forward."

Hermione sat up, sniffing, giving her mother a curious look. "Acknowledge it?"

"It's important to acknowledge your emotions," her mother said firmly. "If you try to deny them, they'll crop up at the worst times."

"Like what?"

"Well… once, in school, one of my friends borrowed something of mine and broke it," her mother said, her tone changing as she reminisced. "I was furious at her, but I kept trying to tell myself that it didn't matter because it was just a toy. I was scared that if I confronted her, I would lose her as a friend, but I stayed angry for a long time, and it really hurt us in the end."

Hermione had never heard this story before. "What happened?"

"I ended up screaming at her one day after school when she asked to borrow something else," her mother said ruefully. "Everyone watched us have a screaming match. It was awful, and we weren't friends for months afterwards. Looking back, if I had just told her how I felt and acknowledged the emotion at the time, we would have probably been able to work through it and stay friends."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I feel sad," she said slowly, "because I will miss feeling useful and reading books all the time. I feel… _anxious_ , because I do not know how the new school year will go, and I feel nostalgic, because I look back at this summer and I was so happy, and I don't know how things will be from here."

Her mother offered her a smile.

"Very good," she said. "Do you feel any better?"

Strangely, Hermione found that she did.


	86. The Train Back to School

King's Cross was bustling, and Hermione was glad that her parents had come to see her off.

"I will miss you so much!" Hermione told them, hugging her father tightly. "I'll get good marks, and I promise I'll write!"

"You had better," her father teased, ruffling her hair. "I want to hear all about your latest dangerous dungeon adventures, you hear?"

"Richard!" her mother admonished, but her father just laughed.

"I'll write all the time," Hermione told them, moving to hug her mother good-bye. "I'll be okay. I promise. I'll make you proud."

"Oh, Hermione," her mother sighed, smiling at her. She brushed back an errant curl behind Hermione's ear. "You are turning into a wonderful young woman, but you'll always be my little girl. I'll always be proud of you."

Hermione squeezed her mother tight, tearing herself away, taking deep breath.

"You ready?" her father asked, and Hermione nodded, once.

"It's still very odd, walking through a wall," her mother mused, looking at the wall separating Platform 9 and Platform 10. "Though I don't suppose I could think of anything better."

"You'd better go, Hermione, or we'll have to say good-bye all over again," her father advised, teasing. "Your mother and I will create a distraction."

"We will?" Hermione's mother looked skeptical.

Her father grinned. "Of course."

He tugged her mother into the middle of the platform, before bending her backwards and kissing her deeply. It was very dramatic, and someone whistled. Hermione laughed, and she could see her mother's face turning red, even as she kissed him back. Hermione used the opportunity to slip through the barrier, the hoots and hollers changing into the familiar noises of a steam engine running, owls hooting, cats yowling, and far too many parents chatting and crowding around to see their children off.

She smiled, taking a deep breath before settling herself.

She was going back to Hogwarts.

Hermione lugged her trunk through the platform onto the train, casting a discrete levitation charm on it to help. It was _heavy_. Hermione had shrunk her all her books to fit them all into her trunk, but the sheer amount of them made the trunk staggeringly overweight anyway.

"Hermione! Over here!"

Hermione turned to see Neville waving at her, pushing through the crowd, and she grinned at him as he helped her lug her trunk onto the train.

"This seems familiar," she teased him, and he laughed.

"At least I haven't lost Trevor this time," Neville said, patting his pocket. "I learned from last year."

Hermione wasn't sure if keeping his toad in his pocket was really the best way to make sure Trevor didn't get lost, but she just grinned back.

Neville headed off, looking for Harry, and Hermione made her way through the train, looking for an empty compartment. She glanced into a compartment full of older Hufflepuffs before turning directly into someone, falling backwards.

"Ah- sorry!"

"It's alright. My fault."

Hermione looked up to see Blaise looking at her, smirking.

"I've got a compartment two up," he told her. "Join me?"

Hermione hadn't planned ahead of who she wanted to sit with, so she amicably tagged along, gladly accepting Blaise's help in shoving her trunk onto the luggage racks. Tracey and Millicent joined them in the compartment, and they settled in, excitedly chatting. Tracey had gotten her hair cut quite short, and she was still excited about it.

"It's so much lighter!" she exclaimed, turning her head quickly from side to side, her hair swishing about. "It's so much easier to take care of, too."

"That's because there's so much less," Millie commented, and Tracey huffed at her.

"That's not the point. The point is it's _nice_."

"Are you giving me a hint?" Hermione said dryly. "That my hair is riotous and terrible, and you think I should cut it all off?"

Tracey looked abruptly guilty and uneasy, and Blaise and Millie laughed.

"Hermione can't cut her hair off," Blaise said. "That's be like shaving a lion's mane off. It wouldn't _be_ a lion anymore."

"I'm not a _Gryffindor_ ," Hermione objected.

"Yeah, but your hair looks kind of like a mane," Blaise said, giving her a smirk. "It's a simile. Just go with it. A lion doesn't look like a lion without a mane; Hermione wouldn't look like Hermione without her hair."

Hermione self-consciously patted her hair down. She didn't think it was _that_ bad.

"Oh, Hermione, your hair is fine," Tracey said. "I just know you fight with it a lot. A haircut might help you out."

While Hermione privately agreed with her – having less hair would make it a _lot_ easier – she didn't want to cut her hair. Very few witches had short hair, and Hermione didn't want to do anything to make her look less like she belonged.

Once the train was happily chugging away, they started swapping stories from the summer. Blaise told them all about the pranks he'd played on Draco over the summer, sending them all into giggles, and Tracey told them about her trip to Spain. Millicent had gone to Ireland for a holiday as well, and her mother had tried to find a leprechaun to catch. Hermione told the story of rescuing Harry from his horrible relatives, and her friends listened with horrified interest.

"They locked him up?" Tracey was shocked. "That's awful."

Millie was giving Hermione a measuring look.

"You went to the Weasleys for help?" she asked. "Why?"

"Honestly, my first impulse was to get the Ministry involved," Hermione told them. "And I know Mr. Weasley works in the Ministry."

"Yeah, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office," Blaise scoffed. "Most useless department ever. He wouldn't have been able to help you."

"No, but he probably could have gotten me in contact with someone who _could_ ," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, it didn't matter anyway; Ron and the twins helped me get Harry out."

"I'm surprised you were okay working with Ronald," Millie commented. "Especially after his remarks at the end of last year."

Hermione shrugged, uneasy. "It was for Harry. I didn't have a whole lot of options available."

"I can believe it," Tracey said suddenly. They all looked at her, and she looked defensive. "What? I can. I don't feel so angry at him, anymore, like I did. I think the summer helped all that fade."

Blaise considered carefully. "I… Hmm. I still find him contemptuous and repulsive, but I'm not sure I still feel the urge to cause his ruin anymore." He leaned back in his seat and sighed, folding his arms behind his head. "I'm sure that'll change as soon as he opens his dumb mouth."

Hermione cocked her head and considered. Had it been the summer, giving them all distance? Or had it been something else?

"I should probably go check on Harry as it is," Hermione said. "I should make sure Weasley hasn't driven him crazy."

"Or completely corrupted him," Blaise said, deadpan. Tracey laughed, and Hermione winced.

"Or that," she admitted, and her friends were laughing as she closed the door behind her.

Hermione started searching the train, looking for Harry. She found Neville sitting with Seamus and Dean and a couple other Gryffindors, recognizable by their red ties. Neville hadn't seen Harry either, so Hermione carried on. She glanced in on Draco and Theo, who seemed to be arguing fiercely over something while Vincent and Crabbe were thumb wrestling behind them. The more of the train Hermione covered, the more worried she got. Had Harry missed the train somehow?

Hermione covered the entire train, to no avail.

She went through the train again, peering into each room, her eyes rapidly scanning for Harry's familiar green eyes and mop of black hair. Compartment after compartment held no Harry, and Hermione felt concern start to gnaw inside of her.

"Neville?" Hermione said, poking her head into the Gryffindor boys' compartment. "Have you seen Harry?"

"Err…" Neville scratched his head. "I haven't, really. Can you not find him?"

"I don't think he's on the train," Hermione admitted. "I wanted to double-check."

To her astonishment, the other two Gryffindor boys seemed to think this was incredibly cool.

"Ron's missing too," Seamus said. "D'you think Harry and him got kidnapped?"

 _"Kidnapped?_ " Hermione said, incredulous. " _No_. I think they _missed_ the _train_."

"Yeah, but what if they got kidnapped by Death Eaters bent on revenge?" Dean piped up. "King's Cross is so busy, no one would ever realize until it was too late!"

"They could end up trapped into some old manor and have to fight their way out," Seamus added. "Or we'd need to get the rest of Gryffindor together to hunt them down and break them out!"

Hermione watched in astonishment as they began plotting their daring escape plan to rescue Harry and Ron, regardless of the fact that they knew none of the necessary details they'd need in order to actually carry out any sort of successful plan, _if_ their nightmare scenario were what was actually happening. So far, their plan consisted of dressing up like wraiths or ghosts to sneak into the Death Eater manor unnoticed. Even Neville was chiming in occasionally, mentioning that they'd need to be careful of certain plants old pureblood families liked to plant around their manors for protection.

Was elaborate hypothetical rescue mission plotting just some sort of _hobby_ , in Gryffindor? Was this _normal?_

Her mind went back to the conversation she'd had with Ron and the Weasley twins as she left the compartment.

They _had_ fallen into plotting mode like it was second nature…

After going through the train a second time, Hermione found herself going to the front of the train and knocking on the prefect's compartment. A familiar Hufflepuff prefect opened it, and Hermione pushed in past her, coming to a stop in front of Jade, who looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Harry Potter isn't on the train," Hermione told her. "Neither is Ronald Weasley."

Jade froze, and the prefects began talking all around.

"Let's all calm down. Let's discuss this together."

Hermione turned around as Rebecca, the Hufflepuff prefect, moved past her to sit back down.

"There's no need to panic," Rebecca said, soothing. "It's likely they simply missed the train. There's no need to worry."

"Why would they miss the train, though?" Hermione objected. "All the _other_ Weasleys made it onto the train. Harry was with them. Why are they here, and he's not?"

Rebecca looked uneasy.

"I'm sure there's a good reason," she said, but Jade scoffed.

"It's not our job to _assume_ things," she said. "It's our job to solve the problems, not just hope for the best."

Jade strode past her and out of the compartment, and Hermione hurried after her.

"Thank you," she said, trotting to keep up. Jade was very tall.

"It's my job," Jade said, dismissive. She threw open another compartment, this one full of male prefects.

"Weasley," Jade said, sneering. "Your brother and Potter are missing. Were they with you this morning?"

Hermione watched as Percy Weasley stood up, brushing out his robes with dignity.

"Of course they were," he said. "What do you mean, they're missing?"

"They're not on the train," Hermione told him. "Nowhere. I've searched all the compartments."

Percy's face flickered with alarm, and Jade shifted her weight, folding her arms.

"If they were with you, they should have made it onto the train," Jade said. "It's not like they didn't make it in time because they were late."

"We _did_ cut it rather close this morning," Percy admitted.

"Your brother is _missing,_ " Hermione told him. "Harry, too."

The prefects looked around at each other.

"I can send an owl to his Head of House," one of them, a Ravenclaw, said finally. "The owl can fly ahead and alert the teachers that they're missing from the train. If they're stuck on the platform, they can go and get them an Apparate them to Hogsmeade."

"Is there any spell you can use?" Hermione asked. "Like a locator spell?"

Percy frowned.

"Not without blood magic," he said severely, "which is _highly illegal_ and _restricted_ by the Ministry."

"Your mother has that clock that knows where everyone is, though," Hermione objected, and Percy's face relaxed.

"Oh. That's a customized clock," he told her. "She _did_ put our blood on each hand, when she got it. But that clock is very different. A general locator spell for a person would be an incredible invasion of privacy."

Hermione supposed she agreed with him, but she felt herself wishing that she _had_ done some sort of locator spell on Harry, somehow. She'd feel better if she knew where he was.

"Granger. Look. We'll handle it," Jade told her. "There's nothing you can do right now. You go sit down. It'll be okay."

Hermione bit her lip. "Alright."

She trudged back to her seat, leaving the prefects to discuss who was going to search the train as she went back. When she returned to the compartment, her friends took one look at her face and sat up, stiffening.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Tracey asked. "You look pale."

"Harry's missing," Hermione said. "Ron, too."

They all exchanged glances.

"They're probably fine," Millie told her. "They were probably just late and missed the train."

"All the other Weasleys are here," Hermione said dully. "None of them missed it."

They all looked around at each other again.

"Potter's starting out early this time," Blaise commented. "The school year hasn't even started yet, and he's off having adventures."

A snorted laugh escaped Hermione against her will, and Blaise relaxed slightly, offering her a small smile.

"It'll be alright," he told her. "From what I hear, Potter's really hard to kill."

That was true, Hermione mused to herself, and Tracey and Millie resumed their conversation about leprechauns. If nothing else, Harry always seemed to end up okay.

Still, the Gryffindor boys' conversation about Harry being kidnapped lingered uneasily in her mind.

Were there really people out there who'd want to kidnap Harry...?

Hermione quietly resolved to herself to find out.


	87. The 2nd Year Sorting

When the train finally arrived at the school, Hermione got off the train, impatiently pushing through and past the others. She was relieved that only the first years had to take boats; she was far too wound up to sit still for long now. She claimed the first horseless carriage for herself, and Blaise followed her into it, as well as the Carrow twins. The carriage soon set off, and Hermione vibrated on her seat nervously.

"It'll be fine, Hermione," Blaise told her. "Why are you so wound up about this?"

Hermione shot him a dark look.

"He's my _friend_ ," she told him. "Of course I'm worried."

"Yeah, but do you need to be _this_ worried?" Blaise objected.

"I'd be this worried if _you_ were missing," Hermione shot back. "I don't want something bad to happen to my friends!"

Blaise fell silent at that, looking at her with inscrutable eyes. Hermione broke his gaze and looked out the carriage window, bouncing. She bit her lip.

"…the Gryffindors were talking about maybe Harry being kidnapped," she admitted quietly. "I _know_ it's extremely unlikely, but- I just can't stop thinking about it now, you know?"

She could see Blaise's face soften with understanding.

"I know you already know this," he told her, "but he's fine. It's going to be okay. Worrying won't help matters – it'll just stress you out more."

Hermione sighed. "I know."

She was well aware that despite her worry, the entire situation was out of her control, and panicking wouldn't help anything.

Worrying and anxiety weren't exactly rational matters, though, and it was hard to keep her mind from dwelling on the worst.

After the carriages stopped, the students all filed out of them. Professors were there to guide the students inside and to the Great Hall before the first years arrived, and Hermione made a beeline for Snape.

"Professor," Hermione said. "Harry Potter is missing. He never made it onto the train."

Professor Snape's eyes widened, then narrowed.

" _Missing?_ " he said. "Mr. Potter?"

"I searched the entire train twice," Hermione told him. "Harry and Ronald were missing, and the prefects couldn't find them either."

Snape raised an eyebrow. Hermione could practically feel the _and I care because…?_ sentiment oozing off of him.

"We think Weasley might have gone rogue and done something dumb," Blaise said, stepping up next to Hermione. "We figured you'd be a better person to tell – Merlin knows that McGonagall would go easy on him for breaking the rules."

Snape's eyes gleamed, and Hermione felt a rush of gratitude for Blaise keeping his Slytherin skills sharp.

"I see," he said. "Perhaps I shall look into the matter."

He nodded to them in obvious dismissal, and Blaise's hand came up behind her to guide Hermione through the castle to the Slytherin table. Blaise was a solid, comforting presence at her side, and as her worry slowly lessened, Hermione noticed that she wasn't sitting in the same place that she used to.

"We're further up," she commented.

"We're second years, now," Blaise told her. "We don't sit on the end anymore."

Hermione nodded, then bit her lip. She could taste blood on it, from all her biting it in her nervousness. She licked it away, then bit it again.

"Stop that."

Hermione looked up at Blaise. "Stop what?"

"Stop abusing your lip." Blaise's hand came up to cup her face, gently pulling her lip out from under her upper teeth with his thumb. His eyes met hers, holding her gaze. "There's no need to hurt yourself in worry. Your lips are too pretty to hurt."

Hermione tore her face away from him, her face flushing as she glared at him. Blaise offered her a lazy, unrepentant grin as their classmates filed in to sit down next to them, Tracey seating herself on Hermione's other side.

"You're incorrigible," she muttered. "Flirting with me at a time like this."

"All day, every day," Blaise agreed cheerily, and Hermione _hmphed_ and turned away to watch the Sorting.

The hall was quieting down, Dumbledore settling into his seat, and a moment later, Professor McGonagall strode in, the first years behind her, gasping as they looked up at the ceiling for the first time. Hermione smiled, remembering her own Sorting – her awe at the Great Hall, her determination to be sorted into Slytherin, her nerves at sitting up in front of the entire school.

It had been so nerve-wracking at the time. Now, she looked on it fondly.

"Wonder where Snape's gotten to," Tracey murmured, while McGonagall instructed the first years on how to proceed with the sorting. Hermione glanced at the head table; sure enough, his chair was empty.

"Adams, Calder!"

Hermione watched as a pale-haired boy was promptly sorted into Hufflepuff. She clapped along with the rest of the school as he scurried towards the badgers' table.

Bertram, Penelope went to Ravenclaw, and Creevey, Colin went to Gryffindor. Fawley, Jemma was the first to be sorted into Slytherin, followed quickly by Flett, James. Hermione's eyes scanned the first years, looking over them, but it was hard to see over the Ravenclaws – the first years were just so _short_.

"Harper, Andrew!"

Andrew joined them at Slytherin, and Hermione clapped along with them, offering the thin boy a smile, which he nervously returned.

Another one to Hufflepuff, another one to Gryffindor, and then…

"Lovegood, Luna!"

Hermione sat up straight, craning her neck to see, and held her breath.

Luna Lovegood looked exactly the same as Hermione remembered her – pale, waifish, with light blonde hair that seemed to float around her. She walked up to the stool and sat on it, a serene smile on her face as McGonagall put the hat on her head. She looked perfectly content to be sitting there, not at all worried about everyone in the school watching her. One minute passed, then two. Hermione crossed her fingers, selfishly hoping…

"RAVENCLAW!"

Luna bounced off the stool and over to the Ravenclaw table, which was applauding loudly. Hermione clapped along with them, with mixed feelings. If not Slytherin, Ravenclaw was the next best option, if Luna still wanted to be her friend. Hermione already had friends in Ravenclaw, too, and she could introduce Luna around.

"Motupali, Kumar!"

Luna's pale blonde hair drifted out of sight, and Hermione forced herself to watch the rest of the sorting, applauding each time a new Slytherin joined them. There were more new students this year, she noticed – noticeably more.

"Why so many?" Hermione murmured.

"The war," Millie said quietly. "Eleven years ago, the war was finally over. People felt safe to start families again."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that.

Weasley, Ginny was the last one sorted – to Gryffindor, to no one's surprise – and Dumbledore stood, gesturing grandly.

"Before we begin our feast, let's take this moment to remember our school's motto, and reflect on its meaning to us," Dumbledore said. He looked out over them, stroking his beard. " _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus,_ " he gravely intoned. "'Never tickle a sleeping dragon'. These are words to live by for us all."

Hermione exchanged an incredulous look with her friends. Draco Malfoy from across the table looked insulted; Theo looked amused.

"And with that," Dumbledore said cheerily, "we feast!"

The tables filled with dishes of food, and conversation broke out as people passed dishes around, everyone eager to eat.

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon?" Tracey said, filling her plate. "What's that mean? Is he mad?"

"Dumbledore just says things to seem like the eccentric old man," Theo said, dismissive. "It _is_ the school motto. I wouldn't look into it too much."

"The entire premise is ridiculous," Draco scoffed. "Unless you've got a suicide wish, no one would ever try to tickle a _dragon."_

"You've never been tickled, Draco?" Hermione said, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You might like it, you know."

Draco choked on his pumpkin juice, before looking up and shooting Hermione a smirk. "…fair enough."

"Is it a threat, though?" Blaise said, his eyes alight. "Maybe Dumbledore's saying _he's_ a dragon, and we'd do best to avoid drawing his attention."

"He might be," Daphne said. "He was really irritated by his inquisition at the Ministry; maybe he's warning us not to do anything to cause one again."

"As if _we_ were the ones who caused it," Theo scoffed.

Hermione felt precisely zero surprise that everyone in Slytherin already seemed to know about what had happened in a secretive, closed, highly-confidential Wizengamot session.

"That's possible," Draco allowed. "And he's warning us that if we draw his attention, there will be repercussions."

"It's _always_ better to not draw the Headmaster's attention," Hermione commented, remembering his pale blue eyes fixed on her at the end of last year's feast. "I can't imagine there'd _ever_ be a reason for him to pay attention to you that was good."

"Especially given he can find out all your secrets." Theo shuddered. "No thank you. I'll stay far away."

Hermione looked at him. "What do you mean, he can find out all your secrets?"

Theo gave her a look that Hermione returned quizzically. Theo let out a sharp sigh, then shook his head.

"Dumbledore just seems to know everything that's going on in the castle," he commented. "I bet the portraits all spy on us and report to him."

That didn't seem _quite_ like what Theo had been saying, but Hermione wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have a secret spy network of portraits. If _she_ were Headmaster, she would have one.

"Snape still isn't around," Blaise remarked.

"You're right," Hermione said, looking. "I wonder why?"

A familiar, airy lilt entered the conversation. "He's trying to punish Harry and Ron." There was a smile in the voice. "He'll rejoin us soon."

Hermione whirled around to see Luna Lovegood, smiling at her serenely as if no time had passed. Hermione felt her breath catch and her heart swell, and she barely caught herself from hugging Luna close – she was back at Hogwarts, now; she needed to calm down with the touchy-feely stuff.

"Luna!" she exclaimed. "Congratulations on Ravenclaw!"

"Thanks, Hermione," Luna said. She sat down next to Hermione, squeezing in between her and Blaise without a word. "Of course, I always knew I was going to Ravenclaw, but the hat wanted to argue about it, saying I couldn't be a Ravenclaw already if I hadn't been sorted."

"Of course." Hermione smirked, and Luna smiled.

"Ah, excuse me? Just who are you?"

Hermione groaned to herself, turning to look at Draco Malfoy, who was giving Luna a disgusted expression. She quickly smoothed her features.

"This is Luna Lovegood," Hermione said, introducing her to the table at large. "She was just sorted into Ravenclaw."

"And… how do you know her already?" Theo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione's mouth quirked. "Luna is a Seer."

A murmur ran through the nearby Slytherins, glances quickly exchanged.

"A Seer?" Blaise sounded impressed. "That's a rare talent."

"That usually runs in families," Daphne said. "I don't know much about your father. Is it through the Lovegood or the Evermonde line?"

"I'm not sure." Luna tilted her head. "Maybe both."

"Oh, _please_ ," a snide voice came down the table, and Hermione looked over to see Pansy sneering. "I presume this is the 'Seer' who gave you this New Blood nonsense?" Pansy scoffed. "And we're supposed to _believe_ she's a Seer? Based on _what?"_

Hermione felt her hackles rising, getting ready to retort, but Luna opened her mouth next to her, her dreamy voice coming out.

"Oh, you're the part-troll girl, aren't you?" Luna's voice contained no malice, just open curiosity. "I saw you confronting your grandmother about it over the summer. She was so mad at you and refused to answer you, but you knew she was lying to protect you."

Pansy froze, staring at Luna, who blinked her large, pale eyes back at her.

"How did you know that?" Pansy hissed. "You have _no possible way_ of knowing that. Were you spying on me, you little freak?"

Luna just looked at Pansy, while Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I believe it's called _scrying_ , not _spying_ ," Blaise commented, smirking. "At least, when a Seer does it."

"Can you really see the future?" Draco looked incredulous. "Like, just on demand? Or just random prophecies?"

Luna looked to Hermione, as if for guidance, and Hermione shrugged, urging Luna on. Luna turned back to Draco.

"The prophecies that come are easier and more accurate," she admitted. "A prophecy coming is like a big buildup of temporal energy that shoots back in time and spills out my mouth. They're usually to do with dramatic things that change the course of the world."

"Do those happen often?" Daphne looked fascinated.

"Not really," Luna said. She glanced sideways at Hermione. "But they do happen."

"Can you see the future, though?" Draco said. "Even if it's not entirely accurate?"

"It's rather difficult," Luna said. "There are so many things people can do each day, and each thing a person does can change all the other things other people were going to do."

Luna's voice was lilting and musical, and Hermione found watching her housemates' visible unease and warring curiosity amusing.

"Can you see what's for breakfast tomorrow?" Greg wanted to know from down the table.

"It is _not polite_ to ask a Seer about the future," Daphne hissed at him. "A Seer will _tell_ you if you are to know something they have seen. You do _not_ hassle them and ask them to perform _party tricks._ "

But Luna had answered anyway.

"For you, nothing," she said. "You'll miss breakfast. You and your closest friend."

Greg looked at Luna, then looked at Vince, before looking back.

"No," he grunted. "I like breakfast. Wouldn't miss it."

Luna shrugged in an airy manner, and Daphne and Draco were giving Greg suspicious looks, to Hermione's intense amusement. Luna turned back to Hermione, smiling.

"I am so glad to see you again," she told her, and Hermione could hear the honesty in her voice. "I have thought of you often, Hermione."

"Likewise, Luna," Hermione said, giving her a smile. "Oh! I have something for you!" Hermione rummaged in her sack. "Here."

Hermione withdrew the several small charms she had purchased with her mother.

"These are for your bracelet," she said, and Luna's face lit up.

"The Muggle magic," she said.

Hermione smiled. "Yes. Exactly."

Luna held out her wrist, and Hermione fastened the new charms to the bracelet.

"The witch's hat is because you're an official witch now, with a wand and everything," Hermione told her. "The eagle is to celebrate your sorting into Ravenclaw; I got all four, so I'll need to return the other three."

"And the last?" Luna asked. "The curly-cue?"

Hermione hesitated.

"It's a symbol for friends," Hermione told her. "Sometimes Muggles will get matching tattoos of this with their best friends."

Luna held up her wrist, observing the new charms as they jingled, before smiling back at Hermione.

"Thank you, Hermione," she said. "I should go now, though. Professor Snape will be back soon, and he will be in a bad mood."

"You mentioned that earlier," Blaise commented. "You said he's been yelling at Potter and Weasley? What for?"

Luna's eyes danced.

"Check the _Daily Prophet_ ," she remarked. She turned to Hermione, offering her a smile. "I'll see you soon."

She floated off back to the Ravenclaw table. Hermione watched as Anthony Goldstein moved to have her sit next to him and started talking to her very rapidly. He kept glancing over at the Slytherin table, and when his eyes met Hermione's, he gave her a grin, and Hermione's face colored.

"I wonder what the teachers have been up to," Theo remarked. "Dumbledore and McGonagall have vanished, too. Do you think they're all punishing Potter and Weasley?"

"Whatever it is, at least they're still _alive_ ," Hermione groaned. "Thank Merlin for small mercies."

"It'd have been better if it were a smaller mercy," Draco said. "If only Potter was still alive, I doubt anyone would truly mourn _Weasley_."

There was a snicker around the table, and Hermione felt a sharp jolt of something in her chest when her eyes met Draco's – like a rope, sharply yanking her heart into her lungs. Draco's eyes widened as if he felt something too, and Hermione held her breath, anxious. Conversation continued around them, and Hermione gradually lowered her eyes from Draco's after a long moment when nothing else happened, resuming eating, though she noticed Draco kept shooting her curious looks throughout the feast.

When the feast was finally over, the prefects led them down into the dungeons. Hermione felt so pleasantly full, she felt as if she could just topple over into her bed and sleep for a week. She followed as Jade murmured "cambion" to the wall, opening it up to reveal to the common room, and everyone poured in, with some people sitting around, some people going directly to their dormitories. Hermione collapsed into a plush chair, Theo and Draco taking seats near her.

"I can't believe I was that small, once," Hermione said quietly, as Jade went through her Slytherin spiel with the new students. "And that was only a year ago."

"A lot can happen in a year," Draco said. He was giving her a significant look, but Hermione didn't know what he was implying, and honestly, she was too tired to try and puzzle it out.

"There were definitely fewer of us, though," Theo commented. "Fourteen new Slytherins this year. Imagine them all running around underfoot like mice."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Be nice."

Jade finished her speech, and everyone seemed to take this as a sign, filtering out and to their dormitories. Hermione stood up and yawned, stretching. She was fully prepared to collapse into her bed for a nice, deep sleep.

"Granger?"

Hermione turned to see Theo, who was waiting. Theo gave her a look, then glanced at everyone else filtering out. Hermione looked at him quizzically, and it was only when nearly everyone else had left the room that Theo turned back to her.

"Earlier," he said. "When I said that Dumbledore can learn all your secrets."

"Yes. You said he had portraits spying on us," Hermione recalled.

"Yes. But, the truth is, Dumbledore can do a lot more than that." Theo looked grim. "Dumbledore knows Legilimency, Hermione."

Hermione cocked her head at him. "'Legilimency'?"

"Legilimency. It's a highly restricted art, but Dumbledore knows it," Theo confirmed. "He's not supposed to use it except in special circumstances, but it's not like anyone can prove it if he does it any other time."

Hermione's mind was sluggish, trying to put it together. Her Latin wasn't strong; 'mens' was mind, she thought, but what was the stem…?

"Can you see the danger, now?" Theo's eyes bored into Hermione's. "Hermione, don't you know what this means? _Dumbledore can read people's minds._ "

Very suddenly, Hermione felt entirely, painfully awake.


	88. The Howler

Hermione found out where Harry had been the following morning: flying a car.

"'Flying Ford Anglia Mystifies Muggles'," Draco Malfoy read aloud, his voice pitched to carry. "Two muggles in London were convinced they saw an old car flying over the post office… another one saw the car over Norfolk…" He continued scanning the article in the _Evening Prophet_ , and Hermione looked at the moving photo on the front of the car – a car she had been in not all that long ago. "I heard from Snape that they crashed the car into the Whomping Willow on the grounds, and the car somehow drove itself into the Forbidden Forest afterwards."

"You _told_ us about that car, Hermione," Tracey said, her voice awestruck. "Potter and Weasley _flew a car_ here. I can't believe it."

"How are they not _expelled?_ " Draco moaned.

Hermione didn't wait; as soon as she saw Harry come in, she went over to the Gryffindor table, joining him and Neville. Harry winced as he saw her coming.

"What," she said, her voice dangerously low, " _happened?_ "

Harry looked uneasy, but he launched into his story. Apparently, the barrier at Platform 9¾ had sealed itself off, and he and Ron couldn't get through. They realized that they had missed the train, and they didn't want to get in trouble for not making it to school on time, so they had decided to fly the car.

"You _didn't want to get in trouble_ ," Hermione said slowly, incredulous, "so you instead decided to _illegally fly a car?_ "

"It sounds so much worse when you phrase it like that…" Harry winced. "…but yeah, essentially."

Ron entered the Great Hall, looking sloppy and annoyed. He took a look at Hermione, and his face darkened.

"Don't start," he warned her. "We got read the riot act by Snape, McGonagall, _and_ Dumbledore. And this was _after_ the damned tree tried to pulverize us. I don't want to hear it again."

Hermione scoffed and folded her arms, and Ron ignored her as he set about filling a plate.

"I… I shouldn't have," Harry admitted. "I wasn't thinking. I didn't think to send Hedwig for help. Ron had the idea about the car, and he said that even underage wizards are allowed to use magic if it's a real emergency. And after he said it, it became really exciting, you know?"

"It _was_ really cool," Neville admitted. "Everyone in Gryffindor applauded when they finally came in."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Gryffindor _would._ "

"That's not it, though," Harry said, fidgeting with his hands. "I owe you an apology. I made you worry. I didn't realize that me not being on the train would cause you to panic."

Hermione flinched. "I wouldn't say _panic_ …"

"Snape was really mad," Harry continued, his voice low. "He went on about how we flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, but he also went on about how arrogant and callous we were, and how we were shameful friends. That we'd made you so frantic and worried, all because we couldn't be bothered to send an owl."

Hermione bit her lip. "… _Snape_ said that?"

"I mean, you _were_ panicking a bit, Hermione," Neville pointed out. "You worked yourself up into quite a state, thinking they got kidnapped."

Harry winced. "You thought we got _kidnapped?"_

"I didn't _know_ what happened," Hermione told him. She looked at him, her honey eyes meeting his green. "Harry, I was _worried._ "

Harry sounded miserable. "I know. I'm sorry."

Hermione gave him a steady look.

"The next time there is a problem," she told him, "do _not_ go to Ron Weasley for advice, alright? Promise me."

Harry winced, but he offered her a tentative grin.

"I promise," he vowed. "Never again shall I blindly follow Ron. Instead, I will ask myself 'what would Hermione do?' and act accordingly, and do the smart Hermione-like thing instead."

Her lips twitched in amusement despite herself.

"Or come ask me yourself," Hermione huffed.

Harry smiled. "Or that."

There was a rustle of noise, and Hermione looked up to see that the mail was arriving, owls pouring into the Great Hall. She quickly went back over to the Slytherin table; in her experience, being at the same table as the Weasley twins when they were getting mail was a bad idea for your health. She slid in next to Blaise, who'd just arrived, and she snagged an apple from a basket.

"So?" Draco drawled. "What did Potter have to say?"

He gave Hermione an expectant look, and Hermione sniffed.

"That they flew the car to school," she said. "That Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, _and_ the Headmaster all yelled at them."

"They didn't even get points off," Theo said, grumpy. "That's blatant favoritism, there."

"Well, _technically_ , the semester hadn't started, and it was for something that occurred _outside_ of school…" Hermione said, trailing off. Theo gave her a look, raising an eyebrow, and Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation. "Okay, yes. It's blatant favoritism of the Gryffindors. But did you really expect any different?"

"I expected them to get _expelled_ ," Draco groused. "Why aren't _you_ more angry about this, Granger? You were more anxious than anyone. You look like you were up all night worrying."

"Thanks, Draco," Hermione snapped. She gently prodded the dark circles underneath her eyes. "Way to make a girl feel good."

"I didn't mean it like that," Draco said hastily. "Just that, you know… you look like you were up late, with your skin all pale…"

Hermione glared at him, and Theo reached over to pat Draco on the back condescendingly.

"Quit while you're ahead, mate," he advised.

In truth, Hermione _knew_ she looked exhausted, and it was because she _was_. It hadn't been from being up all night worrying about Harry, though – after Luna had told her Snape was yelling at him, Hermione had known that Harry had somehow gotten to school okay.

Hermione had been up all night reading about Occlumency.

Theo's hushed conversation with her before bed about Legilimency had prompted a panic in Hermione – a _real_ panic, this time. If Dumbledore could read minds, and if he looked into hers… well, Hermione suspected he'd be none too pleased to realize she'd made a 'deal' of sorts with the Dark Lord. Even if it _was_ just for books.

Said books had been an immense help; Hermione had dived into the trunk of Voldemort's books as soon as she'd gotten back to her dormitory, carelessly bleeding onto it to snap the lock open and ignoring the wound in her hand in favor of searching through his things. She'd found two books: _Invading the Mind_ , by Oberon Lestrange, and _Shielding Your Secrets,_ by Persephone Gaunt. She'd grabbed them both, disguised them with muggle book covers, and read _Shielding Your Secrets_ until dawn.

The book was extremely alarming, saying what all a Legilimens could do and how they could read your mind. Hermione had been too tired and hadn't had any time to start practicing the Occlumency exercises the book recommended. Her current strategy was to look at the floor when the Headmaster was around and to never meet his eyes.

A loud bellowing abruptly interrupted Hermione's thoughts.

"— ** _STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE_** _–_ "

"What _is_ that _?_ " Hermione asked, clamping her hands over her ears as the yelling continued. "Is that envelope _yelling?_ "

"A Howler," Blaise told her. He looked amused. "Seems Mrs. Weasley was none too pleased with her son's antics yesterday."

 **"— _LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED—"_**

Hermione found herself gratified to see that Ron's face was burning bright red in embarrassment, and even Harry looked deeply ashamed.

 ** _"—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED – YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT, AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."_**

Hermione watched as the red envelope promptly burst into flames. Ron and Harry both looked stunned, and gradually, sound began to return to the Great Hall, a few people laughing before conversation resumed again.

"Serves them right," Draco said, looking darkly pleased.

"Kind of cruel, though," Blaise commented, serving himself porridge. "To be humiliated publicly by your mum."

There was a silence at that.

"Don't care," Draco said finally. "They deserved it."

They all continued eating, only to have Theo suddenly sit up in his seat.

"Hey," he said, twisting his head. "Where'd Crabbe and Goyle get off to?"

Hermione looked around. Daphne was there, next to Theo, and Tracey and Millie and Blaise were by her. Draco was craning his neck, searching, and Pansy was further down the table talking to the Carrow girls. The last two of their class were nowhere in sight.

"They're not here," Daphne said, her tone one of wonder. "The Seer was right."

Draco's head whipped around. "The Seer?"

"Luna Lovegood," Daphne told him. "Goyle wanted to know what would be for breakfast, and she told him he wouldn't make it there. Remember?"

An odd, unsettled expression settled on Draco's face.

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence," he said, but his voice betrayed his true thoughts.

"It's not. She knew Pansy had talked to her grandmother about the troll blood," Tracey said, pointing her fork for emphasis. "Lovegood is a Seer. We'd do best to get on her good side, _now_."

Hermione took a moment to privately be amused that everyone still thought Pansy had troll blood. She was sure that Pansy _had_ confronted her grandmother about it, and of _course_ her grandmother would deny it – just like _any_ person with troll blood would.

The fact that a person _without_ troll blood would _also_ deny it probably didn't occur to Pansy.

"Hermione's already friends with her," Blaise said, smirking. "I think we've got an in."

Draco looked uncertain, before he huffed, scowling.

"Fine," he said. "We align ourselves with the Lovegood girl. But we tell no one _why_ – just that she's under our protection."

"Fine by me," Hermione said cheerily. "I'm sure it'll be fine with her."

Draco gave Hermione a look, but Hermione just smirked at him, her eyes teasing, until his scowl lessened into a smirk of his own.

"At least we'll know all the interesting news first, with a seer for a friend," he said. "Could come in handy, help us make difficult choices."

Hermione thought back to her own prophecy, and how it had shaped everything she'd done.

"You have _no_ idea."


	89. Pixies and Problems

Classes began with Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, a familiar class with a familiar teacher that helped Hermione ease back into her classes. Professor McGonagall collected their summer homework and promptly launched into a detailed lecture of the new types of Transfigurations they would be covering for the year, and the additional wand movements and symbols they would need to know and master to cast each one. Hermione's fingers were stained with ink by the end of class from her rapid note-taking, and by the time they were finally allowed to start trying to turn a beetle into a button, everyone's minds were swimming with complicated details. Hermione and Terry Boot were the only ones to manage it before class ended.

When they were dismissed for lunch, Hermione tagged along with her Ravenclaw friends to their table, talking good-natured trash with them all.

"I'll catch you this year, Granger," Terry vowed. "The top spot is mine."

"You'll have to catch me and two others, if I remember correctly," Hermione returned, eyes dancing. "Or was I wrong in recalling that you were _fourth_ in the class?"

Terry's eyed glowered at her, while Anthony and Mandy laughed.

"She's got you there, Boot," Anthony teased. "You'll have a ways to go to catch up with Hermione."

Anthony shot her a grin, and Hermione smiled back, though she could feel her cheeks blush. Anthony had grown taller over the summer, and he seemed more confident because of it.

Hermione slid into a seat between Anthony and Luna, turning to speak to the Luna at once.

"Greg and Vince didn't make it to breakfast," Hermione said, her voice low. "They didn't make it to Transfiguration, either. All the Slytherins in my year are convinced you're a Seer, now."

"Are they?" Luna tilted her head.

"They are," Hermione confirmed. "Draco Malfoy is having word spread that you're 'under our protection', whatever that entails. I don't know how you pulled that sort of nonsense prediction out of thin air, but it worked."

"Sharing a train compartment with Ginny Weasley and her twin brothers might have had something to do with it," Luna said, her eyes sparkling. "They were discussing their brilliant pranking plans to start the year off right."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

After lunch was History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, which was just as dull as Professor Binns' lectures had been the previous year. After attempting to follow the ghost's echoing monotone for ten minutes, Hermione gave up and pulled out her Legilimency book to read in class; she'd taken a seat near the back in the event of just such a need.

She went up and got a course syllabus from Professor Binns afterwards, to better study on her own. He called her "Mary" and thought she was in Hufflepuff, but it hardly mattered – he directed her to the aged document she'd been looking for, and with a quick _Gemino_ , Hermione had a copy of her own.

Hermione met back up with most of her classmates outside in the courtyard as they lounged around, waiting for the late lunch period to end before their next class would start. Theo had his nose in a book, and Blaise was idly flirting with Tracey, who was giggling. Greg and Vince had finally shown up – both looking suspiciously well-groomed and clean, though a noxious odor of ooze hung heavily around them both.

"If anyone _else_ wants to make sure they actually learn something in History this year, and not just have naptime twice a week," Hermione said, duplicating the syllabus she'd gotten several times, "this might help."

Tracey, Millie, and Blaise all took one from her absently. Theo took one too, though he gave her a suspicious look while he did so, and Draco took one as well with a grateful nod.

"He's such a _useless_ teacher," Draco declared. "I spoke to my father about it over the summer. Apparently, he hasn't updated his syllabus since he _died_."

"Ghosts can't really form new memories," Blaise pointed out. "Did you somehow think he would have updated it anyway?"

Draco scowled. "That's not the point."

"He died in the 60s," Hermione said, horrified. "We're going to learn _nothing_ of modern Wizarding History in his class?"

"Apparently not," Draco said grimly.

They all sat and scowled at that, contemplating the misery they were doomed to for the next six years, learning about nothing but witch burnings and goblin rebellions from a relic.

It was not a nice future to contemplate.

A commotion drifted across the courtyard, and Hermione glanced up and over to see Harry, Neville, and Ron sitting on the stairs. A first year seemed to be asking Harry about something, brandishing a large camera.

"…is that firstie asking Potter for a picture?" Theo asked.

"I… It looks like it?" Hermione guessed.

Draco snickered. "Looks like Potter doesn't like it."

Indeed, Harry's face was steadily turning an embarrassed red.

"Harry's never been comfortable with his fame," Hermione said neutrally. "I'm not surprised that he'd dislike such attention."

"True," Blaise said thoughtfully. "He certainly didn't seem to enjoy it at the bookstore."

Draco considered, but spite won out, and he heaved himself to his feet and gestured to Greg and Vince to follow. Hermione could hear him calling out loudly a moment later, " _Signed photos?_ You're giving out _signed photos_ , Potter?"

Hermione groaned.

"Why does Draco make such a fuss over Potter, anyway?" Tracey said, sniffing.

"Jealousy?" Millie suggested. "Spite?

"Potter _did_ somehow vanquish the Dark Lord," Theo reminded them.

"And I'm sure the Malfoy family was none too happy about that," Blaise commented, looking at his nails. He glanced up. "Should we interfere?"

"Might as well," Tracey said cheerily. "If nothing else, we can watch and laugh when Weasley's face goes purple."

The five of them sauntered across the courtyard, looking very disaffected and unbothered by anything, as if the only thing they were interested in was going back inside the school to get to class. As they got closer, Hermione could hear Greg and Vince sniggering, and she could see the anger flashing in Harry's eyes.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," Ron snarled, and Vince stopped laughing and cracked his knuckles ominously.

Hermione glanced around. They were drawing a bit of a crowd.

"Be careful, Weasley," Draco sneered. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. " _'If you put another toe out of line'_ —"

A group of older Slytherins laughed loudly at this, and Draco looked pleased.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," Draco smirked. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house—"

Ron whipped out his wand with fury in his eyes, but Neville grabbed his robes, holding him back. Hermione's eyes caught on a shiny bit near the middle that caught the light oddly. Had Ron actually _taped_ his wand…?

"Look out," Neville warned Ron.

"What's all this, what's all this?"

Hermione turned to see Gilderoy Lockhart striding towards them, turquoise robes swirling behind him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed down bile.

Hermione hadn't seen Gilderoy Lockhart up close in Flourish and Blotts. This close, she finally got the full effect of his appearance. He looked much as he had on the jacket of his book _Magical Me_ – dashing, blond, with a wide grin and perfect, sparkling teeth. His robes were resplendent, though obviously over the top, and he looked _very_ fit.

 _And he's a fraud_ , Hermione reminded herself, angrily. _An attractive fraud, but a fraud nonetheless_.

He was a charlatan, Hermione was certain, who was set about painting himself as a hero in people's minds. If she was to learn anything from this strutting peacock, she suspected it would be how to deceive others into believing gross untruths.

"Who's giving out signed photos?" he asked, grinning down at them all. His eyes caught Harry, and the grin widened as he flung his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"

Harry's face burned in humiliation, and Hermione watched as Draco smirked and melted back into the crowd.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at the first year. "A double portrait! Can't do better than that, can you? And we'll _both_ sign it for you."

Harry looked like he wanted to sink into the ground and die, and Hermione felt her heart go out to him.

"I'm _not_ watching this," she told her friends lowly. She stalked around Lockhart and the knot he'd created in the courtyard, Blaise, Tracey, and Millie walking quickly to keep up with her.

"Are you sure?" Tracey said, giving a hesitant glance back. "I mean, he's a twit, sure, but he's quite fit…"

Hermione shot her a dark look, but Tracey only giggled.

"Surprised you didn't want to rescue Potter back there," Blaise commented, sidling up next to her. "He would have tried to rescue you."

"Against a teacher?" Hermione scoffed. "Not even Harry's that foolish."

Blaise raised an eyebrow at her.

"…okay, maybe he is," Hermione admitted. "But he surely knows that _I'm_ not about to."

"I don't think he'd have appreciated it if you had," Millie added. "Boys tend to not like to have girls come to their rescue."

Blaise and Tracey both nodded, but Hermione scowled.

"That's sexist," she snapped, and Millie shrugged.

"It's true," she said, unrepentant.

Hermione's mood was not much improved by her first proper Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Lockhart. The Slytherins shared the class with Gryffindor, which seemed a bit ill-thought out. The Slytherins took the left side of the classroom, with the Gryffindors on the right, and Lockhart cleared his throat loudly to get their attention. He picked up one of Neville's books and held it up to show his own winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

He looked about them all expectantly; a few of the Gryffindors laughed weakly.

"Is he for _real?_ " Hermione hissed. " _This_ is what the wizarding world views as a hero?"

"Yes," Tracey sighed dreamily next to her. "He may be a prat, but he's a _pretty_ prat."

Hermione turned away, disgusted. Blaise edged his seat closer to Hermione.

"Order of Merlin, hmm?" he said quietly. "If he's a fraud, how do you think he pulled that one off?"

"Third Class order of Merlin is for individuals who 'have made a contribution to our store of knowledge or entertainment'," Hermione said quietly. "Which fits, given all he's really done is _entertain_ with his trashy books; it's the Second and First class awards that matter – they're for actual deeds _done_. Third Class is more like an honorary knighthood, from what I can tell."

Blaise gave her a puzzled look at that, but Hermione ignored him. Lockhart was handing out parchment, and she'd missed the instructions. She glanced over her paper, and her jaw dropped.

 _1._ _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

 _2._ _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

 _3._ _What, in your opinion, in Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," she breathed.

Blaise's face warred between disgust and amusement.

"First time I think I'll ever fail a test," he said with a wink, and he inked his quill. With a sigh, Hermione followed suit.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class, tut-tutting at their lack of knowledge of his heroics and exploits. Seamus and Dean, the two Gryffindor boys who'd gotten punished with Ron at the end of last year, were shaking silently with laughter, and Hermione watched with satisfaction as Neville's expression grew more and more disbelieving as the man prattled on and on.

 _Benefit of the doubt, indeed_ , she thought.

Lockhart seemed disappointed with his lack of devout fans in the class – no one had scored above a 75% on his little quiz. He regaled them about his secret ambition and desire to market his own hair-care products for a bit, before finally getting down to business, withdrawing a large covered cage from behind his desk.

"Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind!"

Hermione tuned him out. Unless he had lethifolds in that cage, she was largely unconcerned. She highly doubted he'd managed to catch anything actually Dark. She entertained herself by wondering what she'd have to do to beat Lockhart's Order of Merlin Third Class. A Second Class was awarded for 'achievement or endeavor beyond the ordinary,' she knew – Dumbledore had earned one for his work on the uses Dragon's Blood, before it'd gotten replaced with the First Class he'd been awarded for defeating Grindelwald. If she worked hard enough and came up with something good for final projects in her final years of school, she might stand a chance of earning a Second Class before ever graduating – which would look _great_ when she went looking for jobs.

 _"Freshly caught Cornish pixies_ ," Lockhart announced dramatically, whipping off the sheet, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Five galleons on this all going terribly, horribly wrong," Draco muttered from behind her.

Hermione could hear Theo scoff from next to him. "Like there's a way this could possibly go _right?_ "

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and shrill voices. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!"

And he opened the cage.

Hermione and most of the rest of Slytherin had the good instinct to immediately duck.

It was _pandemonium_. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom, upending desks, smashing ink bottles, and throwing books and bags about. Within minutes, the Gryffindors were hiding under their desks as well, Neville swinging from the iron chandelier on the ceiling.

"Come on now – round them up, round them up! They're only pixies!" Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, _"Peskipiksi Persternomi!"_

Absolutely nothing happened, save a pixie seizing his wand and throwing it out the window. Lockhart gulped audibly and dived under his own desk.

Hermione scowled, withdrew her own wand, and stood.

 _"Ventus,"_ she snapped, swinging her wand about the room in a grand gesture.

Immediately a strong gale of wind blew into the classroom, and the pixies all shrieked as they were swept into it. Hermione was pleased to find that her air elemental wasn't giving her any strife with the spell, and she was smug as she poured her power into a tightly-controlled vortex, spiraling the pixies tighter and tighter and tighter. With a gesture from her left hand, the forgotten cage levitated off the floor and onto the desk once again, and a tight swirl with her wand had the winds forcing them all back down into their cage, screaming.

Abruptly, she cut off the wind. It took only a fraction of a second before one of the Gryffindor boys slammed the cage shut, glaring at Lockhart, who was shakily emerging from beneath his desk.

"Um… well-handled," Lockhart said, giving them a shaky smile. "Ten points to Slytherin then, is it? Well done, Miss-"

"Granger, sir," Hermione said, twirling her wand idly in her fingers. "About Neville, sir?"

The chandelier holding Neville creaked precariously, and several students below him screamed. The bell rang a moment later, and there was a mad dash toward the exit. Lockhart looked up at his swinging student, lost.

"Ah – another ten points to you if you get him down?" he offered. "Sorry, sorry – I must run along."

He swept past the students and into the hallway with the rest of them, leaving a handful of Slytherins behind along with Harry and Ron. Hermione sighed and stepped towards Neville.

"You're hanging from your robes, Neville," she told him, brandishing her wand. "I'm going to cast another wind spell to help support you, and I need you to slip out of your robes when I do that, alright?"

Neville whimpered, but Hermione didn't give him time to object; a moment later another _Ventus_ was cast, this time with Hermione focusing on having the air elemental channel all the wind energy _up_.

"Trust her, Neville!" Harry called out to him.

"Better risk it than have that chandelier give way and crush you as it falls," Ron called out. "Just lose the robes, Nev."

Neville closed his eyes and swallowed hard, but he let himself fall out of his outer robes a moment later – only to gasp a moment later as he realized he wasn't falling; he was gliding down toward the ground in a smooth gesture at the guidance of Hermione's wand. Hermione grit her teeth – it was _much_ harder to guide someone _else_ down in flight than it was to do for herself, and Neville's body weight was making it considerably more difficult than she'd anticipated.

She fought against the urge to collapse as Neville finally landed on the ground. Neville was staring at her, pale.

"Ah, thanks, Hermione," he said, faltering. He blushed.

"No problem, Neville," Hermione said tiredly. She flicked her wand, and his robes fluttered down off the chandelier a moment later.

Harry and Ron helped Neville stagger from the room a moment later, while Blaise, Tracey, and Millie waited patiently for Hermione to recover. She appreciated their quiet discretion; it was embarrassing to be so drained of power in front of others.

Once she had finally caught her breath, she stood to lead them off down the hall.

"So," Blaise said conversationally. "When were you going to tell us that you could do _that?_ "

Hermione glanced over at him. "Do what?"

"Oh, I don't know, levitate _people?_ " Tracey said.

Hermione frowned. "I didn't. You can't levitate people; I had to use a wind to push him up."

Tracey sniffed. "Regardless. That's _very advanced magic_ , Hermione!"

"It's _not_ ," Hermione insisted. " _Ventus_ is a 3rd-year spell-"

"-and it's _not_ used like that," Blaise cut in. "Ventus is used to conjure winds, Hermione. I've heard of very powerful wizards being able to use it to blow people _away_ , but never being able to use it to make people _fly_."

Hermione shifted uneasily. "He wasn't flying. He was gliding. There's a difference."

The glances from both Blaise and Tracey told her they didn't believe her one bit.


	90. Straining at the Seams

That evening, Hermione was in the corner of the common room reading her disguised Occlumency book when Draco came over and took a seat next to her. Hermione raised her eyebrows over the edge of the book, glancing at him, before returning to her reading. A moment later, Draco cleared his throat, and Hermione closed her book and set it aside, looking at Draco expectantly.

"We have a bit of an issue, Hermione," he said carefully.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, do we?" she said. She leaned forward. "Do tell."

Draco scowled at her, before quickly smoothing his face back into a neutral mask.

"Our pact is in disagreement," he said. "Didn't you feel it yesterday?"

Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Our _pact?"_

"Last night, at dinner," Draco said impatiently. "We were all joking about Weasley. But when we looked at each other, our seams tugged. I _know_ you felt it too."

Hermione's eyes widened.

She _had_ felt it — there had been a sudden, hard yank in her chest when her eyes had met Draco's, something powerful enough that it had _hurt_. And if it was connected to Ron, and _seams_ …

"Perhaps you'd better tell me what conclusions you've come to," Hermione said. "You seem to have an idea of what's going on already."

Draco hesitated.

"Last year, we declared Ronald Weasley foe to House Slytherin," he said slowly. "You and I acted as seam, for the girls and for the boys, and together we united the house against our common enemy."

"I remember," Hermione told him. It'd been the first ritual she'd ever been in; she'd doubt she'd ever forget the feeling of the eerie green energy that had zapped through them all.

"If our seam is tugging, it's because we're pulling in different ways," Draco told her. "You and I are on differing pages regarding Weasley being foe to House Slytherin, now, and it's tugging at the pact."

Hermione blinked.

Her first response was _We're still doing that nonsense?_ and _I thought that ended last year with all that mess at Quidditch_. Hermione bit back her reflexive words, however, swallowing hard. She couldn't appear so casually dismissive of the magic she and her house had wrought, no matter how much trouble it had caused in the end.

"I thought we were done with the Weasley mess," she finally said, the words like ash on her tongue. "Are we not?"

"We could be," Draco admitted. "All of the plans everyone agreed to last year were completed, so as far as the pact is concerned, we could allow it to dissipate safely, with Slytherin's victory over Weasley achieved."

Hermione's eyes watched him carefully. "And yet…?"

Draco's eyes flashed, and Hermione was surprised to see anguish flare through them.

"I don't _want_ to let it go," he said finally. He looked back up at her. "I don't want it to stop."

Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

"Surely you don't want to keep getting him into trouble all year again?" she said. "He barely scraped by last year, his marks the bottom of the barrel, his whole house mad at him for losing them the House Cup…"

"I don't care about holding the pact for _him_ ," Draco said, his silver eyes pleading with her. "I care about holding it for _you._ "

Hermione scoffed.

"Draco, I got over the troll thing ages ago," she said. "I assure you, I'm strong enough to fight my own battles against _Weasley_ -"

"Not _that_." Draco's voice was anguished. "Hermione, I want to be able to keep talking to you."

Hermione stopped short.

 _What?_

His eyes implored her, but Hermione was incredulous.

"…keep talking to me?" she said, attempting to keep her voice neutral.

Draco winced at the bite in her tone, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to care.

"Perhaps you'd better explain something to me then, Draco," she said. " _Why_ , pray tell, wouldn't you be able to _talk_ to me if the pact weren't still active?"

Draco swallowed hard. He looked away.

"I'm not supposed to talk to people like you," he admitted. "I'm only supposed to associate with people of similar social status and ability. That's why I couldn't talk to you at the start of last year."

Hermione stared at him. Draco chanced a glance up at her, before looking away again and hurrying on.

"But it ended up okay, because when all of us Slytherins united in the ritual, we were on the same power level," he told her quickly. "I was seam; you were seam. That marked us as the two most powerful people in our year in Slytherin, and the magic that flared between us recognized us as equals. That meant that you were okay to talk to."

"Let me get this straight," Hermione said, sitting up. "You were an absolute berk to me at the start of last year because of what you presumed to be my blood status? And now, despite you toasting me in front of everybody last year as a New Blood and congratulating me on being top of the year, you're saying if we don't continue this unnecessary grudge, you're going to stop talking to me again?"

Draco looked anguished.

"I thought it'd be enough," he told her in a low voice. He sounded pained. "I thought it would be _okay_."

"That _what_ would be okay, Draco?" Hermione's voice snapped out like a whip. "That it'd be okay to treat me like trash once again?"

"No!" Draco objected. "That's not- that's not what I meant!"

He ran his hand through his hair, distressed. Hermione glared at him, indecision warring inside her with whether or not to storm up to her room with her pride and damn the consequences or wait for him to get whatever issue he had finally off his chest. She watched as he swallowed hard, and his fingers trembled in a fist at his side. Hermione bit her lip, feeling opinion tip over on the balance.

She sighed.

"Then Draco," she said, "tell me frankly – what _do_ you mean?"

Draco's took a deep breath.

"Word got 'round to my father last year, once I started speaking to you in public," he said quietly. "My father is very concerned with public appearances and decorum. When he heard I was talking to someone not of pure blood as an equal, he was horrified."

Unfortunately, Hermione could all too easily imagine Lucius Malfoy reacting in just such a way.

"I was able to explain it away that magic had judged us equals, and that we'd united Slytherin in a ritual as a house together against Weasley," Draco carried on. "My father despises the Weasleys, and by being a seam in the ritual, I'd established myself as a leader within Slytherin. He was proud of me, for it. And he acknowledged that if you were the girls' seam, then it was appropriate to treat you as an equal as well."

Draco took a shaky breath. Hermione waited.

"Apparently, the details that reached him over the year weren't quite accurate," he said finally. "When he heard 'person of unequal blood status,' he presumed you were a half-blood. It never entered his mind that someone born of Muggles would be admitted to Slytherin. And when I told him about the most powerful student in the class, the one who beat me, the New Blood, he didn't realize you were the same person – I think he thought you were in Gryffindor, possibly from hearing about you hanging around Potter so much." He looked away. "When I went home over the summer, he was mad… said I'd shamed the family, coming in second to a Muggle-born… he wouldn't listen to me about you being New Blood, he wouldn't believe it at all."

His voice was shaking slightly, and Hermione watched as he swallowed hard.

"So your father doesn't want us talking anymore, then, I take it?" Hermione said quietly. "Is that it, Draco?"

Draco's eyes shot up to hers.

"He doesn't want to see you as an _equal_ to me," Draco stressed, "because of your parentage. He thinks- he thinks your blood makes you unworthy. But because magic bound us in the pact as equals, he hasn't a choice but to accept it, unless he wants me to dishonor the pact."

"And you?" Hermione prompted. "What is your opinion, on viewing me as an equal?"

Draco's eyes darkened slightly in the candlelight, making the grey of his eyes look almost a liquid silver.

"Hermione… I'm well aware that we're not equals," he told her, his voice low, "but it's because _I_ am not equal to _you_."

Hermione's eyes widened, and Draco's hands darted out to grasp hers before she could pull back.

"I _know_ you are more powerful than me, Hermione." His eyes implored her. "I _know_ that. I _feel_ it. When we did that ritual, and I _felt_ your magic, the power in you… I have no doubt which of us is higher than the other, blood status or not. And I will do my best to _become_ your equal, to be someone of equal status and power who can stand alongside you with pride."

He was smoothing his thumbs over the backs of her hands in small circles, soothing gestures. Hermione's eyes fell to watch his hands; she was suddenly finding it hard to find her breath. She let herself be soothed by his small gestures as she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, sorting out her thoughts.

"What does that mean, then?" Hermione asked.

Draco gave her a puzzled look. "I just told you—"

"You just told me that you fear going against your father, even though you disagree with him," Hermione interrupted. "You told me that you want me to continue something I don't believe necessary anymore just so you can continue speaking to me without needing to take a moral stand against your father."

Draco winced. "When you put it that way…"

"When I put it that way, it doesn't sound nearly as noble, does it?" Hermione said calmly. She tugged her hands free of Draco's, ignoring the flicker of anguish that crossed his face, and sat back onto her chair, tucking her legs under her. "So, Draco: what will you do?"

He licked his lips. "What will I do?"

"Yes, Draco," Hermione said patiently. "You are making it clear to me that you want to continue speaking to me. But what you do not seem to realize is that if you do not have the courage to stand up to your father, I will have no further interest in speaking to _you_."

Draco's eyes widened, and Hermione heard him suck in a gasp.

"You claim to view us as _equals_ ," Hermione said, her voice hard, "or as me _higher_ than you, even. That you want to _earn_ my respect, to catch up with me and reach my power. But you hold this paper monster of your father in front of me, a bogey to fear and cower behind, and claim he prevents you from taking your own stand and becoming a man. Tell me, Draco: how am I supposed to respect you when you do _that?_ "

"But he _does,_ Hermione!" Draco urged. "You have to _believe_ me."

His voice was quivering, and Hermione caught his hands shaking slightly, clenched tightly in his lap. Hermione opened her mouth to refute him, before she paused.

Something about the quivering in his hands was tugging at her mind.

"Draco," she said slowly, " _how_ does your father express his discontent with you speaking to those he views as lesser?"

Draco went as white as a sheet, and Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

"He _beats_ you," she said, her voice one of horror. "Draco, he _beats_ you?"

"No," Draco objected. "No, Hermione, it's not-"

"The hell it isn't!" Hermione snapped. "No one reacts to that question like _that_ unless something _awful_ is going on-"

"He doesn't _beat_ me," Draco said quickly. "He's not- he's not a Muggle. But there are spells… there are spells that don't leave marks. Ones that hurt, but aren't strictly illegal. Other punishments…"

"And he did this to you this summer?" Hermione was doing her best to contain her horror, but she knew it was leaking into her tone. "He _tortured_ you, Draco? Because my grades were higher than yours?"

"It's not like that! They're just brief pain spells – harmless, really. And he stopped, after he met you," Draco said, looking away. "Once he put together you were in Slytherin, the seam I'd talked about, he loosened up a bit. Said that 'we'd see' if you were who you claimed you were this year one way or another."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"Draco…"

"My father _loves_ me," Draco said vehemently. "He just doesn't _know_ , okay? He doesn't _understand_ you like I do. He hasn't seen you cast magic, hasn't seen you do anything, really. He's just trying to protect me as best he knows how."

Hermione felt her stomach sicken.

"But it'll be _okay_ , because we're _right_ , Hermione," Draco told her, reaching for her hand again. "Whatever test he has, it'll be okay, because you _are_ my equal, Hermione. You _are_ New Blood, and he'll see eventually. I _know_ he will. But…"

He trailed off, before looking back up at her, his eyes a mercurial silver.

"…I don't want to have to wait a year to be able to talk to you again."

Hermione swallowed hard, but she let him hold her hand, torn.

On one hand, she was disgusted with the entire circumstance. The fact she had to justify her power and status to anyone before they would so much as deign to _speak_ with her was revolting and offensive. It disgusted her, that people would be so rude and closed-minded. And she was disgusted that Draco bought into any such system in any manner or fashion.

But on the other hand… a father, magically punishing his son, for talking to a Muggle-born?

And Draco was still trying to find a way to talk to her anyway…?

Hermione supposed _she_ would have tried to come up with a way to keep up their acquaintance as well without worrying about being beaten, too, if their positions had been reversed. She couldn't in good conscience expect Draco to rebel against his father if it meant he'd be _tortured_ when he went home.

She sighed.

"I am not going to continue an expired grudge pact that I believe has been completed in full," she announced.

Draco's eyes sank to the floor, his shoulders slumping, as his eyes fell shut.

"…but," Hermione said gently, "I am willing to do a _new_ ritual with you, Draco."

Draco's eyes fluttered open to meet hers immediately.

"You- we can-"

"It's the power balance of equals, is it not, that matters?" Hermione mused, tapping her fingers along her armrest. "If we conduct a ritual as equals, and magic recognizes us as such, then your father will be able to offer no objections, correct?"

She watched as Draco swallowed hard.

"Y-yes," he said, faltering. "That's correct. But- Hermione, _The Fallen Foe_ is the only ritual I _know_ …"

"Don't worry," Hermione said, waving off his concern. "I know more rituals than that. I'll come up with something that'll work for us."

Draco's eyes grew huge in the dark.

"You'll _owe_ me, though," Hermione said pointedly, "for putting up with this nonsense to begin with, and for finding a solution to your ridiculous problem. If there are expensive ritual components to get, _you_ are going to be the one paying for them, got it?"

"Got it," Draco agreed immediately, and Hermione sat back in her chair, satisfied.

"Give me a week or so to figure something out," she told him quietly. "I'll have to look through my things to find a ritual that I think will suit. Until then… _try_ not to aggravate the Weasley pact _too_ much?"

Draco grimaced, and Hermione sighed.

"A bargain, then – leave Harry and Neville alone, and you can wheedle Ron all you want until the pact is formally closed," she compromised. "But once we do, if you go after him, you do it on your own."

"That's fine," Draco agreed.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, before she let out a long sigh.

"I want to finish reading this before I go to bed," she told him, waving a hand. "Shoo. I'll see you in the morning."

"'Shoo'?" Draco smirked. "Am I a cat, now?"

"You're certainly hanging around like one, begging to be petted," Hermione shot back. "And you certainly enjoy chasing Weasels enough to be one."

"Maybe you should scratch me behind my ears," he teased, his eyes glinting, "and see if I purr for you."

Hermione felt herself flush.

"Or maybe I should zap you with my wand and see if you squeal and dart away," she challenged, her face hot. "Shall we experiment and see?"

Draco laughed, but he pulled back.

"Fair enough," he said amicably. His mood seemed lightened. "Goodnight then, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Draco," Hermione bid, pulling out her book once more. "Sweet dreams."

She pulled open her book, her eyes rapidly resuming their reading, not seeing the way Draco's eyes hesitated softly on her from the shadows before he finally disappeared down the corridor to his dorm.


	91. Withholding

Hermione had planned on getting a head start on ritual researching the next morning before Herbology. Alas, her dorm mates ambushed her as soon as they noticed she was awake.

"You never came back last night!" Tracey said. "Hermione, we waited up for you for _ages!_ "

"I stayed out for a couple hours reading," Hermione said, folding her arms. "What's it to you?"

"We wanted to talk to you, Hermione," Daphne said. She moved closer, her eyes darting around. "Do you… do you still have contact with your friend in America?"

Hermione's gaze fell to the mascara tube in Daphne's hand, and she felt her lips tug up into a smirk.

"I might…"

The girls squealed as Hermione pulled out a folder she'd prepared over the summer – complete with the new images carefully selected from Avon catalogs, as well as the order codes she'd copied onto parchment.

"What is _this?_ " Tracey breathed, looking at one of the pictures. "It's so pretty…"

"The glitter powder?" Hermione asked, glancing over her shoulder. "It's… ah, it's to make you sparkle like a fairy. It looks enchanting, under low lights. You know, for evening events and whatnot."

The girls passed around the pages, gossiping about what they wanted to get while Hermione washed her face and got ready for the day. When she emerged from the bathroom, she noticed that Pansy was holding one of the pages in her hands, but Hermione carefully didn't say a word.

"You can keep these, if you keep them out of sight, and just get them all back to me by the end of the day, okay?" Hermione said. "You can give me your codes then, too."

The girls quickly agreed.

Classes on Tuesday were significantly better than Monday's had been; they started with Herbology, where they were repotting Mandrakes. Hermione was surprised they were allowed to do something so risky, but the mandrakes' young age meant their cries weren't fatal just yet, and it ended up being a good exercise for the class. She and Millie worked quickly and efficiently, ruthlessly squashing the grotesque little babies into their new pots without mercy, while Tracey and Daphne kept flinching and dropping theirs around on their table.

Charms class was with the Hufflepuffs, and it was incredibly easy; Professor Flitwick just wanted them to all review their charms from the previous year to make sure no one had forgotten anything. He wanted to correct any bad habits they'd picked up before moving on to something new. It was sensible, though a bit boring – Hermione had no difficulty performing each charm asked perfectly.

The Slytherins had a free period later that afternoon, to make up for the late night they'd have staying up for Astronomy, so they headed back to their dorm to put their books away. Hermione put down her class things and picked up her Transfiguration book and Occlumency book, considering on heading to the library, when she noticed Tracey standing in front of the door, blocking her way.

"It's the end of classes, Hermione," Tracey warned. She brandished a catalog image. "That's close enough to the end of the day. And you _said_ we could do this now."

Amused, Hermione sat back down, taking careful notes as she marked down each girl's order. Tracey wanted a few things to replace what she'd used, and Millie had marked down for a stronger concealer potion, to help cover her spots.

Daphne had returned with a long, pre-written list – far more than would be reasonable, if she was getting things just herself. As Daphne stumbled over her words, trying to pass it off like she was trying to prepare for winter when her summer tan would fade by getting multiple shades of foundation, it was obvious to Hermione that she was buying makeup for someone else too.

"Just tell me who it's for, Daphne," Hermione said finally. "If you tell me the truth, I won't get mad at you for it."

Daphne froze, considering, then bit her lip.

"My mother," she admitted. "She asked about it when she saw me using it over the summer."

Hermione considered. "…she gave you money for everything?"

Daphne's eyes lit up. "Yes!"

"Then it's fine," Hermione conceded.

The total amount Daphne's mother wanted, in addition to Daphne, was staggering, and Hermione found herself agreeing to try and get more 'forbidden tutorials' on how to apply everything for Daphne to send on to her mother.

After Daphne's turn finally ended, Pansy started to approach, and Hermione straightened up and raised an eyebrow.

"Pansy," she said.

"Granger." Pansy scowled. "Alright, look, I want…"

"I don't give a damn what you want, Pansy," Hermione said conversationally. "Did you really think I was going to continue to help you after everything you did to me last year?"

Pansy looked struck, then livid.

"You have to," she said, nastily. "This is all forbidden stuff. If you don't keep me happy, I can tell on you."

"You could," Hermione agreed reasonably. "That'd get me in trouble, as well as Tracey, Millie, Daphne, _and_ Daphne's mother."

Immediately, the other Slytherin girls looked up and scowled at Pansy as one. Pansy shrank back, before glaring at Hermione.

"I only wanted-" Pansy started.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Tracey snapped. "Hermione doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to."

Pansy's eyes darted to Millie, who ignored her, then to Daphne, who sniffed, put her nose up, and looked pointedly away.

"But…" Pansy objected. "Without… without _anything_ , I'll look… everyone else will look so much better than me…"

"Don't worry, Pansy," Millie chimed in. "I'm sure you can win boys over with your _winning personality_."

Pansy flushed a mottled red as Tracey snickered. Hermione did her best to hold a haughty, poised expression, and Pansy finally broke and looked away. Slowly, very slowly, she sank to her knees by the foot of Hermione's bed and looked down.

"Fine," she said. Her voice was quieter, more submissive. She wasn't quite begging, but Hermione could recognize how badly Pansy must want makeup in order to come this close to prostrating herself before her. Though it made sense – if Pansy had a fatal flaw, it was her vanity. "What do you want, Granger? I'll pay double."

Hermione laughed. It wasn't anything like her usual happy giggle, but a much higher, crueler sound.

"Oh, Pansy," she said condescendingly. She reached out and cupped Pansy's cheek, causing Pansy's skin to redden in embarrassment. "I don't want _anything_ from you. I don't _need_ your money – I do this as a _favor_ to everyone, using my connections to bolster us all."

She nodded around the room to the other girls, who were nodding back at her. Hermione turned back to Pansy, who looked starkly panicked.

"Then- how do I-?"

"You will need to _give_ me something, Pansy," Hermione told her softly, caressing Pansy's cheek with her thumb, remembering the way Draco's gesture had made her shiver the night before. Sure enough, Pansy shivered under her. She abruptly took Pansy's face firmly in her hands and turned it sharply so Pansy's dark eyes met Hermione's golden brown. Pansy's breath caught in her throat, a frightened little gasp, and Hermione felt dark satisfaction curl inside of her.

"You will need to _give_ me something, Pansy," Hermione told her. "Something I want that I don't even _know_ I want, as a gesture of your good faith. And only then, only if your gift is found _satisfactory_ to me… _then_ , Pansy. Then we will talk."


	92. An Unexpected Gift

"Quidditch tryouts are tomorrow night," Draco announced the next morning, while Hermione was helping herself to breakfast. "I'm going out for Seeker."

"Ooh!" Pansy squealed. "Oh, Draco, I'm sure you'll get it!"

"Ooh, yes, Draco!" Blaise mimicked, his voice pitched high. "I'm sure you'll get _anything_ you want!"

Pansy glared at him and flushed, while the rest of them snickered. Draco gave them all a haughty look.

"I only _mentioned_ it," he said, "in case anyone wants to come down to the pitch to support me, during tryouts."

His gaze was heavy and expectant on them all. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his presumption.

"Sure, mate," Theo said. "After classes, or after dinner?"

Vince and Greg grunted their assent.

"I'll come," Daphne said. "Is Warrington going to try out again?"

"I'll be there," Pansy reaffirmed.

"After dinner. And I think so," Draco answered their questions distractedly. He was looking at Hermione, who was buttering her toast with an air of utter disinterest.

"What about the rest of you?" he asked finally. "Will you come?"

Hermione blinked, then glanced around.

Tracey and Millie were glancing at her sideways out of the corners of their eyes, waiting to see what she was going to say. Blaise was openly regarding her, a smirk on his lips, unafraid to show he was waiting to see how she answered. It took Hermione a moment to realize that her friends were waiting to hear what she was going to say before making a decision themselves.

It was as if her friends were all looking to her to for guidance, to make the choice for their little group.

It was like they were looking to her as a _leader_.

A new emotion spread slowly in Hermione's chest. It was hot and tight feeling, a pressure behind her sternum, and Hermione pushed it away for the time being, not wanting to try and unravel that tangled ball of feelings at the breakfast table.

"Yeah, why not?" Hermione said finally. "It's just a couple hours, right?"

A genuine smile spread across Draco's face, one Hermione was surprised to see.

"Great," he said. "That's great."

"Are we expected to cheer for you?" Blaise teased. "Wave 'Malfoy' pennants and chant your name?"

"Ooh, that might be fun!" Tracey brightened. "I can make some out of an old dress I kept-"

"No!" Draco objected quickly. "No, no pennants! Just- you know, being there for support-"

Blaise continued to tease him about them being his cheerleaders, bringing a flush to Draco's pale cheeks. Tracey seemed really excited about making streamers and pennants out of the old clothes she had outgrown, refusing to be dissuaded by Draco pleading that it was inappropriate. Hermione watched while she ate her toast, smirking each time Draco objected hotly to some new idea and casually remarking that of _course_ they needed to bring banners and pennants, how were they ever to be expected to support him otherwise?

All in all, it was a very enjoyable way to spend her breakfast.

* * *

Pansy approached Hermione after lunch, tugging her into an alcove before class.

"I did it," she told her, taking a deep breath. "I made a gesture of good faith."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" she asked. "And what did you do?"

Pansy held her head high.

"I encouraged Damon Rowle to try out for Quidditch," Pansy told her. "He'll be going out for Seeker, too."

Hermione blinked.

"You actively encouraged a fourth year to try out against Draco?" she questioned. "I thought you _liked_ Draco."

"I do," Pansy snapped. "I don't expect Damon to _win._ "

"No?" Hermione queried. "Even though he's got two years' experience on Draco?"

Pansy gave her a dark look.

"I _expect_ ," she stressed, "that when flying around at high speeds in high winds, that Rowle _might_ find his broomstick somewhat harder to control than he thought."

Hermione just looked at Pansy, who continued.

"It would certainly be an unavoidable _accident_ if the wind were to somehow interfere with him during the tryout," she stressed. "Maybe a powerful wind might send his broom spinning in a vortex to crash and embarrass him in front of his friends."

Comprehension finally clicked for Hermione.

"I've met Rowle before, haven't I?" Hermione said conversationally. "You introduced us last year, at Professor Snape's private tutorial one evening?"

Pansy's eyes flashed.

"Yes," she said shortly. "I did."


	93. Considering and Consulting

**Events referenced here can be reread in Chapter 40, "Bullying".**

* * *

Hermione would never forget the day she was attacked.

It had been a Thursday. She'd still been riding her happiness at beating the obstacle course when Pansy had told her Professor Snape had invited her to a private lesson of some sort. Hermione, ever the naïve and eager-to-learn student, had followed Pansy straight into an ambush.

There had been seven attackers.

And they _were_ attackers, in Hermione's mind. If she hadn't known the magic she had, she could have died. _Would_ have died, if Filch's rounds took too long, and she'd remained unfound and bled out.

Seven attackers. All pureblooded Slytherins, who took issue with her blood status and her being at the top of her class, all with powerful enough family names that Snape had warned Hermione of the futility of going after them officially.

But in the same breath, Snape had murmured that if she were to go after them _unofficially…_

And Hermione had understood.

Pansy had been the first. Hermione's spell to make her blood look inhuman had worked beautifully, and rumors of the Parkinsons being part troll _still_ circulated the school. Pansy had been knocked down in the social status structure of Slytherin, and even better, her fellow pureblood supremacists now looked down on _her_ , for being of possibly impure blood.

Hermione had been _highly_ satisfied by this outcome. It was appropriate, it was fitting, and it made Pansy wary of her.

Still, though – there were six more.

Six more students who had attacked her.

Six people who watched her start to bleed out in the dungeons.

Six more who had escaped from any punishment whatsoever…

Hermione had vowed to herself that night that somehow, she would make them all regret it. That she would strike back at them each at some point, to show them she was stronger than them, better than them, and to strike fear into each of _their_ hearts, the same way it had been struck into hers.

And while Hermione wasn't about to attempt _murder_ on those who had attacked her like they had…

If they came out a little worse for wear on the other side of her vengeance…

Well.

 _She_ had certainly come out battered, bruised, and bloodied, hadn't she?

Turnabout was only fair play.

And Pansy's gift of Damon Rowle, handed up on a platter, was too perfect to neglect.

* * *

Hermione tracked down Harry the next day after classes were over, asking for a word. Harry went with her amicably, while the rest of his house went up to their common room. She led him outside to a bench in the garden, turning so her legs were angled towards his.

"Over the summer," Hermione began, "we spoke briefly of some of the Slytherins bullying me."

Harry's eyes flashed.

"Are they bullying you again, Hermione?" he demanded immediately. "What happened? Who is it? We can-"

"No," Hermione said, cutting him off. "No one is bullying me right now. Not yet, anyway."

Harry settled down, giving her a suspicious look. Hermione offered him a wan smile.

"The issue isn't me being bullied by people right now," she told him. "It's… handling the people who bullied me before."

Harry frowned. "'Handling'?"

Hermione bit her lip, considering, before opting to be honest.

"I want to pay them back," she said simply.

Harry's eyes widened. "You're going for _revenge?_ "

Hermione nodded. "It's the Slytherin way."

It was interesting, to watch Harry struggle with himself – his emotions played across his face as clear as a movie on a screen. She could see his loyalty towards her warring with his innate desire to not hurt people or do anything wrong, all mixed up with his anger at the injustice that she had been bullied at all. Harry wrenched up his face, his eyes scrunched closed.

"These bullies," Harry said. "They were never punished?"

"Not one of them," Hermione said quietly. "They were never even brought in. They all got off scot-free."

When Harry's eyes had opened, his resolve had hardened.

"Tell me we're doing the right thing," he begged her. "They deserve it, right? They're all blood supremacists in Slytherin?"

Hermione laughed. It wasn't a nice sound.

" _We_ are not doing anything. _I_ am coming to you for indirect help with revenge on one person," she told him. "Damon Rowle cast half a dozen cutting curses at me, helped break my ribs, and left me to bleed out on a classroom floor."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off.

"I promise, I am not asking you for direct help with anything," she told him. "I can handle my own affairs. What I need from you now is Quidditch advice."

That stopped Harry short. He looked confused.

" _Quidditch_ advice?" he echoed.

"Yes," Hermione said. She withdrew a piece of parchment. "I need you to tell me the most common maneuvers seekers use when flying, what they look like, how difficult each one is, and what moves are the most dangerous if you lose control of your broom."

Harry's eyes widened imperceptibly. He paused a long moment, torn, before he nodded once, decisive.

"I am helping my good friend Hermione with Quidditch advice," he said firmly. "Because you don't know much about the game, and you are curious to learn more about how to play."

"Yes," Hermione said, agreeable. If Harry needed plausible deniability, she would give it to him. "I want to know more about seekers before my housemate Draco Malfoy tries out for seeker tonight, so I can understand when I watch him play."

Harry made a disgusted face. "… _Malfoy_ is going out for seeker?"

"He is," Hermione said pleasantly. "Now: seeker maneuvers?"

Reluctantly, Harry began to talk, Hermione taking notes and making rough sketches as he did for the next half hour, a plan beginning to percolate in her mind.


	94. Damon Rowle

**CW: Violence**

* * *

The evening was comfortably cool and pleasantly breezy. Blaise and Millie were complaining about their Potions assignments as they all walked down to the Quidditch pitch.

"I almost ruined mine entirely," Millie bemoaned. "I almost put in fluxweed instead of snotgrass."

"The fact that there's such a distinction between _slicing_ and _dicing_ is stupid," Blaise groused. "If the flobberworms still end up in tiny itty-bitty pieces, what's it _matter_ how they get there?"

"Dicing creates more surface area per part," Hermione said distractedly. "Slicing limits the strength of the reaction."

Blaise shot her a look. "Did you just pull that out of thin air?"

"That's basic Potions knowledge," Hermione objected.

"Basic for _you_ , maybe," he grumbled.

When they arrived at the pitch, Slytherins were ambling all over the field, Marcus Flint directing different groups to different areas.

"I said _only Chasers_ over here, McKinnon!" Marcus roared. "As you're trying out for _Keeper_ , why the hell are you standing with the Chasers?"

"You said 'Quaffle-people', not 'Chasers'!" McKinnon objected. "Keepers play with the Quaffle, too!"

"Chasers are Quaffle-people. Keepers are hoop-people," Marcus said, sneering. "I should disqualify you from tryouts for being an idiot, McKinnon…"

"Let's go say hello," Hermione suggested. "You know. Wish Draco 'good luck' and whatnot."

Blaise shot her a sideways look, and Tracey looked surprised.

"Are we actually hoping he wins?" Tracey asked. "Do we like him?"

"If he wins, more time he'll be out of the common room practicing," Millie pointed out. "Might be a good thing, considering."

Blaise was still looking at Hermione with a glint in his eye, and Hermione was trying very hard to not react under his gaze.

"Might as well," he said finally. "Wouldn't hurt."

They made their way over to the group of potential seekers. They were a smaller group than the others, only four of them standing around with their broomsticks as they waited their turn to compete. Draco looked surprised when he saw them approaching.

"Hi," he said. Hermione nodded at him, offering him a small smile.

"Hello, Draco," she said. "Good luck tonight."

"Oh. Thanks," Draco said. Two spots of faint color appeared high on his pale cheeks. "You didn't have to come all the way down here to wish me good luck, though."

"That's okay; I wanted to," Hermione told him, and Draco looked pleased.

"If you're not going to be trying out," an older girl said, scowling over their group of four, "then you need to get off the Quidditch pitch."

"Oh, no worries," Hermione said, flashing her a smile. "No, I won't be trying out tonight. I'll be firmly on the ground, sniveling, scared, and cowering of the dangerous heights you'll all be flying to."

The tone in the air changed, and everyone stiffened at her words. Tracey and Millie had tensed, Blaise had stepped up behind her to cover her back, and Draco looked alarmed. The other two potential seekers looked confused, but Hermione's eyes locked with Damon Rowle's, which had flashed with recognition.

She smiled.

"Much better place for someone like me, don't you think?" she murmured.

Damon seemed to be wrestling for words, but a moment later, Marcus Flint was marching over in a storm, looming over them all.

"Get _off_ the pitch!" he snarled. "If you're not trying out and you're not off the pitch in the next ten seconds, the beaters will be using your heads for bludgers-!"

They all ran for the stands, clambering up to watch the tryouts, Tracey and Millie laughing.

"I can imagine Flint actually trying to do that," Millie said. "Trying to rip someone's head off as a substitute bludger."

"Can you imagine him justifying it to Professor Snape?" Tracey giggled. "'Well sir, we lost a bludger, but Goyle's head was just as hard as one, so…'"

They dissolved into laughter again as they all took their seats, Tracey and Millie sitting to Hermione's right. Blaise sat on her left, giving her a considering look.

"Want to tell me what all that was about?" Blaise murmured, his voice quiet.

Hermione considered. "It's probably safer if you didn't know."

Blaise's eyebrows went up, but he stayed silent.

Quidditch tryouts were boring, and Hermione found herself wishing she had brought a book. The Chasers were trying to make goals, the Keepers trying to block them, and it looked a lot like a stretched-out boring version of football. She and her friends entertained themselves by making snide comments and ranking the players on ridiculous criteria, very few of which would have any relevance on whether or not a person would actually be a good addition to the Quidditch team.

"He missed by a mile," Millie scoffed. "Minus points for Hideous Aim."

"Ah, but he missed with _style_ ," Blaise said, smirking. "Points for Flashy Flying."

"Points for looking good with windswept hair, too," Tracey chimed in. "What's that, points for Attractive Advantage?"

Hermione laughed. When it came down to it, she really did treasure her Slytherin friends.

As they all bickered good-naturedly, she watched out of the corner of her eye, paying attention to the players as they flew.

Harry had gone over a lot about seeker maneuvers and Quidditch theory, but in the end, she had managed to find the common thread and simplify it down: the most dangerous Quidditch maneuvers were the ones that involved high speeds and turning, in any direction.

A turn on broomstick at high speeds required the flyer to angle themself ever-so-perfectly off of center, in order to bank into the turn and properly angle their weight. If a flyer didn't angle themself just so, the winds could catch the back of the broomstick and send it flying off-course and out of control fairly easily. This was a risk especially faced by seekers, who typically flew at higher speeds than the rest of the players when they were chasing after the snitch.

Hermione watched, idly making comments and awarding people imaginary points for 'Creative Cussing' and 'Funny Failing'. The Chasers and Keepers wrapped up, followed by the Beaters, finally followed by the Seekers.

Almost without realizing it, Hermione straightened up, paying rapt attention, and she could sense Blaise stiffening next to her.

"Draco's turn, next," Blaise said casually. "Shame we didn't bring any pennants."

"I was genuinely considering it," Tracey admitted, giggling. "But I didn't want Draco to have Vince and Greg murder me in my bed."

The seekers, it seemed, were going to compete in a mini-tournament of snitch-catching. Marcus had divided them into two pairs to fly against each other, the winners of which would presumably face off against each other in a final race. The first pair was the snotty older girl and a boy Hermione didn't recognize, and a moment later, they were off.

"That's not a real snitch," Blaise scoffed. "Flint's slowed it down, somehow."

"Makes sense," Millie said reasonably. "No one wants to be here all night while they hunt around for it in the dark."

The seekers chasing the snitch were fiercely competitive, and Hermione could tell they were pushing their broomsticks as hard as they could. When the boy's hand finally closed around the snitch and Marcus' whistle blew, the girl landed and spat on the ground with poor grace.

"Next up! Malfoy and Rowle!" Marcus' voice echoed up from the pitch.

Subtly, Hermione palmed her wand.

"Draco's turn now," Blaise commented, his eyes firmly fixed on the pitch. "And Rowle. He's a fourth year, I heard. Have you ever met Rowle before, Hermione?"

"I might have one night," Hermione said, her eyes watching the fliers mount their brooms. "Pansy introduced us."

Blaise's eyes flashed. "…I see."

Marcus let the snitch go in a flash of gold, there was a whistle, and both Draco and Rowle kicked off from the ground.

Hermione watched with sharp eyes, wishing she'd brought a set of binoculars to help. Tracey next to her was keeping up a steady stream of babble about Draco's flying and his chances with Millie, while Hermione watched as both seekers flew around. As they rounded the south bend of the Quidditch pitch and the snitch darted off towards the far end, Hermione saw her chance approaching.

Hidden in her sleeve, she raised her wand.

" _Ventus,_ " she breathed.

Hermione felt a rush of answering power surge through her, and the wind picked up on the pitch.

Her eyes never wavered as Draco and Rowle raced down the pitch, both gaining on the snitch.

"Careful, now," Blaise murmured from next to her. "Got to time it right…"

Hermione appreciated the fact that his words could just as easily be aimed at Draco as they were at her.

There! The snitch had darted away, curving back toward the pitch, and both flyers had to bank hard into their brooms to make the turn—

Hermione gestured subtly with her wand, a surge of power and air descending from above the pitch in a tightly-spun vortex, as invisible as it was powerful, and–-

 _"AAaahhh!"_

The other players on the ground gasped at Rowle's helpless scream.

"Merlin!"

"Rowle!"

"Rowle! What are you—?!"

Rowle's broom had suddenly careened off-course and had whirled into a high-speed death spiral that he couldn't seem to get control of. Hermione watched as he spun about helplessly in midair as his broom spun further and further from the Quidditch pitch, until—

 ** _WHAM_**

" _Oh_ ," Blaise breathed. "Now that's just cruel."

Hermione watched as the Whomping Willow loudly and angrily objected to being hit with a dizzy rider and broomstick, wailing on Rowle with its giant boughs. Even from this distance, she could see the silver glint from his Quidditch robes being tossed around in the tree limbs, and she could hear the dull **_thud_** of impact every time a branch connected with his body.

Everyone went running over to the tree now, and Hermione and her friends ran over with them, not wanting to miss all the excitement.

Rowle was somehow clinging to a branch, now, hiding behind one to avoid the others. His broomstick was snapped in three pieces stuck in the leaves nearby, and one of his legs looked bent entirely the wrong way.

"Rowle! Get out of there!" Marcus bellowed.

With a deep breath, Rowle leapt from the tree, hitting the ground hard. Marcus and another boy ran under the tree limbs for him, intending to drag him out.

"I think not," Hermione murmured.

A gesture, and the still-active air elemental inside of her sent winds dancing through the air, adjusting one branch _just so_ so it whacked Rowle firmly on his side, hitting him hard enough that he went flying out from underneath the branches of the tree, safely out of reach, but with a sickening crack to his ribs.

"Rowle!"

"Damon! Damon, are you okay?!"

They all crowded around Rowle, murmuring.

"Out of the way, out of the way-!"

Someone had gotten Professor Snape, who was hurrying over, robes billowing. He knelt down next to Rowle, who was moaning on the ground pitifully, and cast some sort of diagnostic charm.

"Marvelously bad flying," Marcus snorted, now that it was evident that Rowle wasn't going to be mauled to death by a tree. "Never seen someone _still_ unable to sort themselves out of a tailspin after more than half a dozen rotations."

"Is… is he going to be okay?"

Hermione glanced over. Draco had landed, snitch in hand, but he looked uncertain.

"He will live," Snape said shortly. " _Levicorpus_."

Rowle floated into the air, turning over to be face-up, and he moaned.

"Would you look at that," Hermione murmured.

Rowle's eyes flickered open at her voice and met hers. This time, instead of glaring at her with malice, there was a wariness and fear lurking in his eyes.

"Look at what?" Draco asked, peering over at him.

"He's got a cut on his cheek," Hermione said, with satisfaction. "It'll leave a scar… something to _remember this by_."

Rowle's eyes widened at her tone, and he visibly recoiled from her.

"Enough!" Snape said. "I am taking him to the Hospital Wing. You may all visit him there later, after you have cleaned up all this mess and finished the tryouts. Mister Rowle, hold _still_."

They watched as Snape led him off the grounds up to the school, holding him aloft in the air at wand point. They grew smaller as they disappeared into the distance, one tall figure in robes walking and a smaller figure floating alongside.

"I didn't know that there was a separate spell for levitating _people_ ," Hermione said, astonished and somewhat bitter. "All this time, I could have just been using _that_ …"

"Oh, hush, Hermione," Tracey said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure you'll have it learned by tomorrow."

"We have to clean this up before we can continue tryouts?" Marcus said, glaring at the broken bits of broomstick and tree branch that littered the ground underneath and around the Whomping Willow. "How are we supposed to manage _that?_ "

"Oh," Hermione said. "No matter."

She gestured with a hand, and all the broken bits of wood and broom blew out from underneath of the tree, spinning themselves into a neat pile out of the Whomping Willow's reach. Marcus blinked but then gave Hermione a twisted grin.

"Nice, there, Granger!" he said, missing teeth gaping. "Now tryouts can continue."

He went back to the pitch, calling for everyone to follow him back. Most of the crowd following him back onto the pitch as he yelled. Draco lingered behind a long moment, catching Hermione's eye and watching her. He walked backwards for a while, as if he was trying to silently communicate with her, before finally turning around and hurrying after the rest of them.

There was a silence, now, by the tree, only broken by the soft breeze of the wind. Hermione stood there a long moment, just breathing, feeing the wind on her face and in her hair.

"Are you ready?" Blaise asked quietly.

Hermione looked up at him, before she nodded.

"I'm ready," she said.

Blaise and Tracey guided the group back up to the Quidditch stands, chatting idly about what Rowle's broomstick had been made out of and what a replacement would cost. Hermione let their chatter go in one ear and out the other; she was much more focused on what was going on with her internally.

The air elemental inside of her was still fluttering and dancing inside of her, thrilled at being let out to play for so long. But inside her, the rest of her power felt smooth and calm, a sense of satisfaction having settled in her at seeing Rowle's eyes flash with realization and horror as he looked up at her from the ground.

 _Dark satisfaction_ , Hermione noted, carefully examining herself. _Not Dark power._

She hadn't been sure, after all. According to Snape, _any_ magic could be Dark magic, when it was used to hurt another, but he'd made the distinction between feeling a sense of dark satisfaction at the use of your _power_ overcoming another, versus a sense of dark satisfaction at the _result._ Dark magic created the feeling of Dark pleasure itself, just by using it – any satisfaction experienced just from observing the result was separate entirely.

 _It was justified revenge,_ Hermione told herself. _And like Snape said – intent is everything._

Still, Hermione was aware she was playing with fire. Dark Magic seemed a slippery slope to go down, and she knew she was perhaps closer to the top of that hill than she'd like.

 _Two down_ , she thought to herself. _Only five to go._


	95. An Unusual Interrogation

**A/N: New Blood turned 1 this past weekend! Thank you all for reading. I love writing this story, and it makes me so happy to hear that so many people love reading along as well. Thank you all for your reviews, too. They make me smile, they make me laugh, and they help me keep going when things are hard. Sometimes all a review will say is 'I hope you are well,' and even that is a small kindness that makes me a little stronger. I would write this story with no readers and continue to post it out of stubbornness, but it's much more fun when there are readers, too.**

 **I hope you all continue to read for the next year, too, and I hope you're as excited as me for Hermione's next adventures!**

 **Many thanks to you all :)**

* * *

Word flew round the Slytherin common room of what had happened to Damon Rowle at Quidditch tryouts. It seemed everyone was talking about what had happened in one context or another. Most people were discussing what had happened and how he'd lost control of his broom, those who had been there describing it for others who listened in horrified fascination, while others were discussing the tryouts themselves – who had won which positions and the like.

Hermione was watching discreetly from over the edge of her book, listening. Nearby, Marcus Flint was retelling Rowle's adventure with a particularly scathing commentary on his flying abilities, gesticulating widely as he told the story.

"And _then_ , the useless sod, he leaned to the _outside_ , not the _inside_ of the spiral, which made him go even _further_ off course and smack right into the Whomping Willow!" Marcus smacked his hand against his other loudly. "The tree beat the snot out of him, of course. Busted his broomstick into smithereens as well – left a hell of a mess. Snape wasn't pleased – wanted us to clean it all up before we continued try-outs…"

"Clean up a mess _under_ the Whomping Willow?" Adrian Pucey asked, laughing. "You must have really pissed Snape off, Flint. How many thwacks did _you_ take, cleaning all that up?"

"None, Pucey," Marcus growled. "Granger cast some spell, and all the splinters flew into a pile outside of the hit zone."

"Oh, so you had to have a _second-year_ clean up your mess—"

"It wasn't _my_ mess, you utter twat—"

"Excuse me, did you say _Granger?_ "

Hermione glanced up just long enough to recognize the girl who approached Marcus, folding her arms.

"What's it to you, Travers?" Marcus sneered.

She sneered right back. "I just find it _funny_ that _Granger_ , of all people, was the one who thought to use a spell to clean it all up…"

"It wasn't like that, Lilian," another boy chimed in. "She just waved her hand, and all the debris swept itself out from under the tree. She made it all settle down into one tight pile, too, like mini-tornado. And she did it right after Flint had complained about it – she probably only wanted to help, so she could see the end of tryouts, too."

Lilian, however, had reared back.

"I'm sorry," she said pleasantly. "Did you just say a second year wandlessly caused a powerful, tightly-controlled _tornado?"_

"That's what he just _said_ , Travers," Marcus growled. "Why don't you try _listening_ for a—"

"A _tornado_ ," she stressed, "not unlike the one Rowle was in when he crashed?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Marcus scoffed. "Rowle wasn't in tornado, he was in a tailspin."

"But he _could_ have been, couldn't he?" Lilian pointed out. "If he was the only thing caught in the tornado, it'd certainly _look_ like a tailspin, wouldn't it?"

"I doubt it," Adrian remarked, looking at his nails lazily. "Tornadoes are fierce and loud enough that they make a lot of noise. And they tend to pick up dirt and debris."

"Even the little tornado Granger made picked up dirt and made a noise," the other boy added.

Lilian scowled at them.

"Rowle's been flying since he was four," she insisted. "There's no way he would have flown into a tailspin."

"Then maybe he shouldn't have gone faster than he could handle while trying to beat out Malfoy," Flint snarled. "Unless you're saying that a second-year was strong enough to cause an _invisible and silent tornado_ to purposefully make him crash?"

There was a brief silence, and Adrian started to laugh.

"You're crazy, Travers," he said. "You see conspiracy theories _everywhere._ You were the one convinced last year that Hagrid was breeding Dark creatures in the forest that fed on unicorns."

Lilian flushed a hot red and stormed off, the boys laughing behind her as she left.

Hermione bit her lip and made a careful note to keep an eye out for Lilian Travers.

"…Hermione?"

Hermione looked up to see Draco Malfoy looking down at her, somewhat hesitantly.

"Draco," she said, shutting her book and setting it aside. She offered him a smile. "Congratulations on making seeker."

Draco's face flickered with a quick grin. "Thanks. I'm quite pleased."

"Where were you after tryouts?" Hermione asked. "The new players were celebrating in the corner by the lake for a while."

"Snape wanted to congratulate me," he said.

Hermione blinked. "You, personally?"

"He's my godfather." Draco shrugged. "He wanted to hear about how tryouts went and to tell me congratulations."

Hermione felt a sudden flare of jealousy so sharp it was physically painful. To have _Snape_ as a godfather… to have _Snape_ as someone always looking out for you, helping you, training you…

"Speaking of which, he wanted me to come and get you," Draco continued. "He wants to see you in his office."

Hermione blinked.

"Now?" she said, astonished. "It's nearly curfew."

"He'll probably write you a note or walk you back if he keeps you out past it," Draco said. "But he insisted I come get you and send you along now."

Something in Draco's tone was off, and Hermione paused.

"Do you know what the meeting is about?" she asked.

"No," Draco said immediately.

Hermione considered.

"Do you _think_ you might know what it's about?" she revised.

An emotion flitted over Draco's face.

"I suspect," he admitted.

Hermione waited, nodding at him to prompt him. Draco looked at her for a long moment, the silence growing thicker.

"I was going to lose to Rowle," he said abruptly. "During tryouts. He was gaining on the snitch, though it was so close it would have been hard to see from the stands."

"Was he now?" Hermione murmured, waiting to see where Draco was going with this.

"He was," Draco repeated, "until he banked wrong and flew off into a tailspin."

He was looking at her pointedly. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but he seemed to be waiting for something from her.

"How fortuitous for you, then," she said, and Draco nodded, a relief flashing over his face.

"Yes, I thought so too," he said. "It was very, very lucky for me. _Unnaturally_ lucky, one might say."

"Oh, I'm sure it had more to do with Rowle's own _poor_ luck, being unable to handle his own broom," Hermione said. "Nothing unnatural about someone getting cocky and making a mistake."

"Still, though," Draco pressed. "He was blown off-course so suddenly, right at the critical moment. It was like he was a _pixie_ or something."

He stressed the word _pixie_ significantly, and Hermione's heart leap into her throat, her eyes wide.

Draco held his hands up, empty. "I'm just saying, you know – that I'm very glad I was as _lucky_ as I happened to be tonight. I wouldn't have gotten the position otherwise, and I wanted this really, really badly." His eyes held hers, significant. "I'm _very_ _grateful_ for my random streak of luck."

He thought she had done it for him, Hermione realized. He had no idea that Hermione had a bone to pick with Rowle, no idea that anything had ever happened that she'd want revenge on him for. Draco legitimately thought that she'd interfered with Quidditch tryouts to help him win.

Hermione would have criticized him for his sheer arrogance, but it worked in her favor; she'd rather he not know the truth of why she went after Rowle.

"I think that's why Snape wants to talk to you, anyway," Draco admitted. "Not that he said anything, but when I was talking about tryouts, his eyes narrowed, and then he wanted to talk to you."

"About your unusual streak of luck?" Hermione said, her tone carefully measured as she stood, brushing out her robes.

"Maybe," Draco said. He shrugged, then offered her a smirk. "You're the best brewer in our class. Maybe he thinks you brewed me _Felix Felicis_ to help me win."

Hermione laughed before she left the common room, heading for Snape's private office.

"Note to self: look up _Felix Felicis_ ," she murmured to herself.

She knocked on Snape's office door three times, rapping on it sharply.

"Come in."

Hermione pushed open the door to see Professor Snape sitting behind his desk. He was slowly toying with some black cube in his hands, turning it over and over and over. He was looking at her, his eyes glittering.

"Please, Miss Granger," he said. "Have a seat."

Hermione took a seat, careful to keep her face neutral.

"Draco said you wanted to see me, sir?" she asked.

"I did." Snape put down the odd black cube and steepled his hands in front of him. "I understand you were at Quidditch tryouts this evening."

"I _attended_ ," Hermione said. "All of the second years did, to support Draco. _I_ certainly didn't try out."

"Indeed." His eyes glinted. "And were you witness to Mr. Rowle's unfortunate crash?"

"It was hard to miss," Hermione commented.

Snape's eyes were fixed firmly on hers, and Hermione fought the urge to squirm. She focused on remaining cool and calm, utterly in the present.

"It has come to my attention," Snape said finally, "that you made some particular remarks to Mr. Rowle before and after his Quidditch tryout."

A bolt of panic flashed through Hermione's mind. She had, obviously – there was no point to getting revenge unless your victim _knew_ it had been you that did it – but she'd never thought Damon would _tell_ anyone. At least, not a _teacher_ – she imagined he might admit it to his fellow bullies, but not to _Snape_.

She forced herself to breathe in smoothly, hold it for a count of five, and breathe out smoothly, steadily. As she breathed, her initial panic faded, leaving Hermione instead with a sense of confusion.

She _was_ sure that Damon wouldn't tell anyone, now that she reconsidered it. He'd been _afraid_ of her when he left the pitch, and she doubted he'd want to tell a teacher that a second-year had bested him, especially with so far-fetched a story as her magically blowing his broomstick off-course. But then, if Damon hadn't said anything, then… how…?

She briefly considered Draco, before dismissing that too – Draco had made a point to emphasize how grateful he was. He wouldn't have betrayed her here.

Snape was still looking at her, eyes glittering in the dark, and Hermione realized he was still waiting for her response.

"I did, sir," she told him, settling her shoulders back. "I commented on how I wasn't about to fly, and later I commented that he had a mark on his cheek."

"And did these remarks have any greater meaning…?"

 _Now_ , Hermione was outright suspicious. The only way Snape would have known that her comments would have any deeper meaning would be from Damon himself, but he'd have had to admit to the events of last February to do so.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir," Hermione said neutrally. "They were just comments."

Something flashed in Snape's eyes, and with a rush, Hermione realized it was _pride_. He was _proud_ of her for not telling him what had happened, for walking around the truth like this. He didn't _want_ her to tell him what had really occurred.

Abruptly, Hermione reconsidered what was going on. If Snape was _proud_ of her, this meeting took on entirely new meaning.

Rowle wouldn't have accused her – he was too scared, and too prideful, to ever admit she had bested him. And Draco wouldn't have said anything. Harry going to Snape was laughable, and Blaise would never betray her. So somehow, Snape had put it together himself what had happened, and he'd called her down here to talk to her about it directly.

But he _hadn't_ summoned the Headmaster. And he hadn't declared _anything_ , or threatened her with any punishment for that matter. No, it was more like he was _probing_ , trying to see what information she would give up or say.

"It has come to my attention," Snape said finally, "that you seem to possess _uncanny_ skills with air magic. Given the events of last year… one cannot be faulted for being suspicious. So I must ask: may I see your wand, Miss Granger?"

Curious, Hermione handed it over. He turned it over in his hands.

"There is a spell, Miss Granger," Snape told her, withdrawing his own wand, "that can reproduce what spells were most recently cast by a wand. Were you aware of this?"

Hermione didn't answer, just watched him as he touched the tip of his wand to hers.

 _"Priori Incantantem."_

Her wand began to glow, and a soft burst of swirling wind came out of her wand for a moment, whispering _"Ventus"_ as it dissipated into the classroom. Snape gave her a pointed look, but Hermione watched her wand, and a moment later, a ghostly image of a plate reforming from two pieces emerged, a toneless _"Reparo"_ echoing in the classroom.

Snape snapped his wand up sharply, breaking it away from hers, and his eyes were fixed on hers. Hermione shrugged innocently.

"I understand your suspicion, given the circumstances" she said. "But surely this clears me of any wrongdoing."

" _Clears_ you?" Snape looked incredulous. "Miss Granger—"

"Anyone who was there at tryouts can tell you that after you left, I used a wind charm to sweep all the broken bits of broom out from under the Whomping Willow so no one would get hurt trying to get them out," Hermione said. "And the spell I used before that was from dinner, when Greg dropped a plate on the ground that I fixed." She offered him a smile, but her eyes glinted challengingly. "If there were no other spells between the two of those, surely that proves my innocence?"

Snape watched her for a long moment, before the corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly.

"Indeed it does, Miss Granger," he told her. "Indeed it does."

His tone said anything _but_ that he believed she was innocent. He was smirking at her, his dark eyes glittering, and Hermione smirked right back at him.

"Then, sir," she prompted. "My wand?"

He handed it back to her, and Hermione smoothly took it and slipped it back into her robes.

"We spoke last year about Dark magic, you might recall," Snape said conversationally. "Do you remember our discussion?"

"I remember it well, sir," Hermione replied. "Particularly the parts about intent being everything, and the difference between outright cruelty and justified retribution."

Snape's smirk didn't move, but she could see his eyes glint.

"Very good," he told her as he smoothly stood. "Then, Miss Granger, allow me to escort you back to your common room. It is after curfew, and I'll not see Professor McGonagall take points off any Slytherins when they were justifiably kept out after hours by a professor."

"Thank you, sir."

Hermione's mind lingered on the way back, however, and continued to dwell on their conversation as she readied herself for bed.

If no one had told Snape anything of what had really happened... how had he known?


	96. Dumbledore's Office

Hermione woke on Saturday feeling cheerful. Rowle was still in the Hospital Wing, under observation for the ribs he'd had to regrow, and Pansy was treating Hermione with a cool deference, if not a reluctant respect. She was still feeling pleased with herself as she buttered her toast until a prefect approached her – one she didn't recognize, from Ravenclaw.

" _Dumbledore?_ " Hermione repeated. " _Dumbledore_ wants to see me?"

The prefect nodded. "Immediately after breakfast. I'm to take you up to his office."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm not done eating," she objected.

"I'll come get you at quarter till, then," the prefect said amicably. "Eat quickly."

The prefect walked off, and Hermione turned back to the Slytherin table, her stomach suddenly churning.

"The Headmaster," Blaise commented. "That's new. I've never heard of him summoning anyone to his office directly."

"At least not a student," Tracey added. "Mostly he just leaves us alone."

Hermione tossed her head back, defiant.

"I've done nothing wrong," she said. "I'm sure it's some mundane matter. Perhaps my parents' owl got lost en route to the school."

Her friends hid their polite incredulousness and avoided the topic the rest of breakfast, though it was obvious a dark mood was growing over Hermione. Draco kept glancing her way, and Tracey kept giving her worried looks.

The Ravenclaw prefect soon returned.

"Ready?"

"I suppose so," Hermione said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

The trip to Dumbledore's office was up several sets of stairs, and Hermione's bag began to make her shoulder ache. She grit her teeth and resisted the urge to hit it with a Levitation Charm or two – the last thing she needed now was a prefect to see her confidence with air charms.

At last, they reached a large statue of a phoenix.

"Chocolate Frog."

The statue began to rotate, a spiral staircase emerging from the ground. Hermione looked to the prefect, who gestured, and Hermione stepped onto the staircase as it twisted her upwards. The stairs made a low rumbling sound, stone groaning against itself, and Hermione quietly tried to steel herself for this.

 _Deep breaths,_ she told herself. _Calm your mind._

Dumbledore could read minds, but she wasn't about to let him read _hers_. If she managed to avoid eye contact, and since there was no proof of anything…

The staircase stopped in front of a large door, and Hermione knocked.

"Enter."

Hermione obediently opened the door.

The Headmaster's office was large, open, and cluttered. Odd gadgets of all sorts littered the shelves, with larger relics and artifacts along the edges of the space. Hermione's eyes were drawn to one that looked like a large fountain, but she resisted the urge to go look. Instead, she approached the Headmaster.

Dumbledore could be an imposing man when he wanted to be. Despite his age, he was quite tall, and his sharp blue eyes and long beard held an intimidation factor all their own. He was wearing deep purple robes trimmed in lavender, and he stood next to his chair, watching her approach.

Hermione was careful to keep her eyes from meeting his.

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Hermione's voice was polite, inquisitive, and slightly confused. A good tone for a good student who was puzzled as to why they had been summoned, Hermione thought.

"Hello, Miss Granger." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I did indeed. Please, take a seat."

Hermione sank into the chair in front of his desk, and Dumbledore settled into his much fancier chair across the desk. He looked at her, his blue eyes examining her, and Hermione kept her eyes pleasantly just below his own, preventing direct eye contact.

"It has come to my attention, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, "that you have misbehaved."

Immediately, Hermione felt her hackles rise. Taking a deep breath, she pushed back her instinctive defensive anger.

"Sir?" she questioned. "I'm not sure what you're speaking about."

He had _nothing_ , she reminded herself. _Nothing_. There was no way he could prove that Rowle's accident had been her, and if she just denied everything-

"I have spoken with Harry Potter recently-" Dumbledore began.

 _No!_ Hermione thought, desperation tinging her thoughts. _Never. Harry wouldn't betray me! But- if Dumbledore looked into his mind-_

"-and he informed me you were responsible for his 'rescue' from his family's house," the Headmaster finished.

Hermione's thoughts came to a screeching halt.

"Wait, _what?"_

"You took it upon yourself to 'liberate' Mr. Potter from his relatives' home," Dumbledore said. He gave her a frown, the twinkle in his eyes gone. "Even though it was not your place to do so."

Her mind did an abrupt 180, and Hermione's temper flared. She'd been prepared to defend herself from accusations of endangering a classmate; she'd never imagined she'd be called to defend herself for _doing the right thing._

 _"Excuse me?_ " Hermione said, incredulous. "Harry was being _locked up_. They were _starving_ him. They put _bars_ on the _windows!_ "

"While that is unfortunate, Harry should have stayed with his family over the summer," Dumbledore told her. "It was not your place to rescue him."

"It _was_ ," Hermione said vehemently. "Harry is my _friend_. If there was something I could do to help him, I was _morally obligated_ to do it."

"Miss Granger." Dumbledore's voice turned cold. "There are adults watching out for the well-being of Mr. Potter. You should have turned to them with your concerns."

"I was told that adults couldn't _help!_ " Hermione objected. "I went to go and get Mr. Weasley, but then Fred and George told me about all the bureaucracy that would get involved, and-"

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley were involved in this?" Dumbledore frowned.

" _Yes_ ," Hermione said. "Fred, George, Ron, and I all went in the stupid flying car to rescue Harry that night. I wasn't about to attempt it on my own. Fred drove the car, we pulled the bars from Harry's window, and we took him back to The Burrow, where he would be _safe_ for the rest of the summer."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "And Mr. Potter stayed at The Burrow for the rest of the summer?"

His tone had changed somewhat, the cold condemnation gone from his voice.

"Yes. I just _said_ that," Hermione said. "I sent his family a letter, saying he was somewhere safe, and Harry assured me that they barely cared about him anyway-"

Abruptly, realization struck Hermione. A cold, icy anger gripped her throat, and she fell silent.

Dumbledore wasn't mad that Harry had been rescued.

He was mad that _she_ had been the one to rescue him.

Something must have changed in her stance or her eyes, because Dumbledore straightened, looking over the tops of his half-moon glasses down the length of his nose at her.

"Miss Granger," he said sternly. "Harry is safest with his relatives. It is _not_ your place to-"

"To help my friend?" Hermione said bitterly.

"It was _dangerous_ to try and 'rescue' him from a Muggle neighborhood-"

"But the Weasleys rescuing him and helping him is fine?" Hermione interrupted. "It's just the issue that _I_ shouldn't have done it? Because I'm-"

"Miss Granger."

Dumbledore's voice was sharp, and it whipped through the office like a tangible force. Hermione flinched and fell silent. His eyes settled on her once again, and Hermione kept her own eyes firmly on his desk.

"I need to make sure you understand that it is not your place to try and protect Harry Potter," Dumbledore said, "regardless of if he is your _friend_ or not."

Hermione recalled Dumbledore's eyes fixing upon her at the leaving feast, the icy blue _seeing_ her for the first time.

"I understand," Hermione said dully.

"I do not want you in my office again because you have tried to 'rescue' Harry from his Muggle relatives," Dumbledore said sternly, "regardless of what worries you have. There are adults watching after Mr. Potter, and it is their job to make sure he is safe, not yours." His eyes were sharp. "Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione's eyes flashed, but she did her best to rein her anger back.

"Crystal."


	97. Conspiring for Components

Hermione stormed around the Slytherin common room in a bad mood. The rest of the second years gave her a wide berth as she stormed around, muttering to herself.

"'Not my place' indeed," she muttered beneath her breath. "Of course, because it's not _my_ place to act when I encounter something _morally reprehensible_ —"

Dumbledore didn't want her being friends with Harry; that much was clear. Hermione wondered if it was Dumbledore being prejudiced against Slytherins in general, or if it was a specific dislike of _her._

"It's not like I'm trying to make Harry _obligated_ to me," she muttered. "He's my _friend_."

Hermione had never imagined she'd face consequences or suspicion for trying to help Harry – especially when she'd helped _rescue_ him from an awful situation. Merlin, Ron and Harry had been _seen by Muggles_ while _flying a car_ , and they'd gotten off with only a _detention_.

Dumbledore's attention was _not_ something she wanted on her. She had no desire to attract special attention from the Headmaster. With her interests and ambition, it was one of the worst things that could happen to her.

A familiar voice drifted into her mind, a memory.

 _Father always said that Dumbledore was the worst thing that ever happened to Hogwarts_ …

Hermione bit her lip, considering, before moving decisively in the direction of some of the second years.

"Pansy," Hermione said. "Where is Draco?"

Pansy looked up from her homework at Hermione. Whatever defiance Pansy held faltered when her eyes met Hermione's.

"Quidditch Pitch," Pansy said, her voice somewhat faint. "Practice is over at noon."

Hermione gave her a sharp nod.

"Thank you," she said, and Pansy looked surprised. "If you see him, please let him know I'm looking for him."

With that, Hermione stalked back to her dormitory. No one else was inside, and Hermione kicked open her trunk of shrunken books, her eyes scanning the titles inside before pulling out _Customizing Your Circles_.

"Kill two birds with one stone," Hermione muttered to herself, flipping open the book and pulling out a sheet of parchment and self-inking quill. "I might not be able to protect Harry, but I can damn well protect myself."

* * *

"You were looking for me?"

Hermione looked up at Draco Malfoy. He was illuminated by the faint green light of the lake, and he took a seat at her table, the rest of the common room a dull murmur of conversation behind him.

"I was," she said simply, as she watched as Draco tried not to preen.

His hair was damp, Hermione noted. She suspected he'd taken a shower immediately before coming to see her, given his earlier Quidditch practice, and he smelled slightly of soap.

Better soap than sweat, she figured. Not that she cared either way.

"Not long ago, you agreed with me to do a ritual to set us magically as equals again," she said quietly. "Do you still hold that intention?"

Draco straightened, his eyes alert.

"I do," he said. "Did you find one?"

"I designed one," Hermione said, waving her hand dismissively. "It's an adaptation of two different ones to get the effect we need."

Draco's eyes widened. "You _designed_ -"

"It's to protect us both from Dumbledore," Hermione interrupted, her voice low. Her eyes met Draco's. "To protect us from his Legilimency."

Draco's eyes held hers for a long moment, wide.

"Or don't you have secrets you'd rather the Headmaster not be able to see…?" Hermione asked softly, and Draco swallowed.

"That sounds like a dangerous ritual," he said slowly. "I've never heard of such a thing before."

"That's why I had to design it," Hermione told him. "Look. Here."

She scooted her chair alongside Draco's, dragging her piece of parchment over.

"So this is the circle we'll be working with," she told him. "It's a transference of energy, so it's all about the balance. You'll sit here, and I'll sit here, and we'll join hands here in the center." She pointed to the runes around the outside of the circle. "I only have the introductory volume for Ancient Runes, so I've only included runes for protection and transference. They'll help guide the energy, as well as make sure we're safe in the circle itself."

"Guide the energy?"

"We're going to be making a sort of shield in front of the others' thoughts," Hermione explained. "Think of it like a cheating way to do Occlumency until we both get better at it. I will transfer some of my magic to you, to shield your thoughts from those who would steal them, and you will transfer some of your magic to me to do the same. Because the magic is foreign, we'll be able to better detect when anyone is messing with it, and then we can react accordingly."

Draco was looking at her oddly. "You're saying it's a shield against Legilimency that will let us know when someone is trying to read our thoughts."

"A _weak_ shield," Hermione admitted. "Neither of us have much power, compared to Dumbledore. But we can use as much as we safely can to strengthen it, and we'll at least be able to _feel_ when someone's trying to read our minds, then — which can take _tons_ of practice to realize with Occlumency."

Draco looked at the parchment, tracing his fingertips over the lines.

"How did you even _do_ this?" he wondered aloud.

"Modification of a protection ritual and another ritual for clarity of thought," Hermione answered, though she didn't think he'd actually expected a response.

"No, you don't get it," he told her. "Ritual modification is _difficult._ Rituals are imprecise. There's a reason wizards turned to wands. But you just… you just chopped two up and combined them how you wanted."

"Ritual magic is all about asserting your will with your magic," Hermione said, frowning. "There are rules with the circles and runes and elements and whatnot, but it's not inflexible."

"I have _never_ heard of people modifying ritual magic like this, Hermione," Draco told her seriously. "Is this... is this a New Blood thing, you being able to do this?"

"It's just logic and research," Hermione dismissed, waving him off. "Ritual magic isn't _hard_ , it's just _rare_. But Draco, here's the issue – a ritual like this will require some components. Potentially _expensive_ components."

That got Draco's attention.

"What do you need?" he asked.

Hermione bit her lip.

"We'll need powdered silver," she told him. "A lot of it. We'll need to make the circle and channels from it instead of salt or chalk—"

"Done," Draco said immediately. "What else?"

Hermione looked at him for a long moment.

"We'll need a silvered mirror and a silver ritual dagger," she said.

"That's easy enough," Draco said, nodding. He tugged the parchment over towards him and began scratching out a list. "Anything else?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"Fire seeds and liquid silver," she finished. "Mercury. Pure, in a small silver cauldron. As much as you can get, but really, a few ounces will do."

Draco looked hesitant.

"Liquid silver is hard to get," he said slowly. "Especially because it's considered a poison most of the time…"

"We won't be touching it," Hermione assured him. "And I'll put runes down to contain its vapors, so we don't end up breathing any of the fumes in."

Draco frowned, but he nodded.

"I'll need to owl my father," he warned. "I won't be able to get all this while I'm stuck at school."

Hermione shrugged. She wasn't fond of Lucius Malfoy, but she wasn't about to refuse his help. "Do what you need to do."

"When do we need all this by?"

"We can do the ritual on either a new moon or a full moon," Hermione told him. "Full moon is in three days. New moon is about two weeks after that."

Draco nodded, tearing off part of the parchment. He folded up the list and tucked it into his robes.

"I'll see what I can do," he told her seriously.

Hermione nodded. "Good." She paused. "And Draco?"

His eyes leapt up to hers, his silver gaze holding hers for a long moment. She hesitated.

"Don't tell anyone," she said finally.

Draco smirked, his eyes glinting.

"Oh, Hermione," he drawled, and there was an amused note to his tone. "Do you really think the Malfoy family hasn't learned how to keep secrets before now?"


	98. Sharing Friends

Hermione had decided to introduce Luna to her other friends in one of the nicer nooks in the courtyard, since the weather was being agreeable. She didn't want Madam Pince to get mad at them for talking, especially not this early in the year.

So it was Saturday afternoon when Hermione retrieved Luna from the Ravenclaw tower and walked her down to the prearranged meeting point outside.

"Harry, Neville, this is Luna Lovegood," Hermione introduced. "Luna, these are my friends Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom."

Harry nodded, and Neville offered a shy smile and a small bow.

"A pleasure," he told her.

Luna smiled.

"Pleased to meet you," she said. She gave them both a short, bobbing curtsy before looking around. "Where's the tall red one?"

Harry laughed.

"Ron got in trouble this morning for causing trouble with the Slytherins," he said. "The Quidditch pitch ended up double-booked, and there was a bit of a fight. Ron withdrew his wand and tried to curse Malfoy, but the curse ended up hitting him instead." Harry seemed to be fighting his amusement. "Hagrid is keeping watch over him until he stops belching slugs."

Hermione made a face. "Ewww."

"I told him not to curse them." Harry shrugged. "Or to try and cast magic with a broken wand."

"Speaking of wands-"

Neville pulled out his new wand, looking up at Hermione with a wide grin.

"I can do Transfiguration with this now, Hermione!" he exclaimed. "I've _never_ been able to master a Transfiguration on the first day of class before!"

Hermione grinned. "That's great, Neville!"

Neville sat back happily, admiring his wand.

"Charms class was almost _easy_ ," he said. "For the first time… I feel like a real wizard, Hermione." He looked up at her. "Thanks."

His voice was so earnest, so heartfelt, that Hermione flushed.

"It was nothing," she said. "I just wanted to help you out."

Neville nodded, grinning. "Well, you _definitely_ did."

Luna was looking at Harry, tilting her head as she looked at him.

"Your magic is growing rapidly," she observed. "It wasn't doing that before."

Harry blinked.

"It's… what?"

"Your aura reflects your magic," Luna told him. "Yours is fluctuating very fast."

"Luna is a Seer," Hermione explained. Harry blinked, but Neville looked impressed.

"That's very rare!" he exclaimed. "Harry, that means she can see glimpses of the future!"

"Oh," Harry said, his eyes widening. "And that means… you can see my- my what?"

"Your aura," Hermione said patiently. "It's kind of like the bubble of your own magic and personal energy that surrounds you at all times."

"Yours is shifting around quite rapidly," Luna told him. "It's as if you've recently come into your magic and it hasn't quite settled down yet. Your magical power is growing very fast now, it seems, and your aura is trying to catch up with it."

Harry looked puzzled, but Hermione's eyes widened as she caught on.

"Um," she said. "Would you say his power is growing _exponentially_ , now?"

Luna turned her dreamy blue eyes on Hermione.

"That'd be one word for it, I suppose," she agreed. "Though who can really say what the exponent would be?"

"Why's it doing that?" Harry wanted to know. "When did it start?"

"Recently," Luna told him. "I would have noticed it before."

Hermione blushed a bright red.

"At age eleven, a mage's magic begins to grow. At some point between ages eleven and seventeen the mage's magic will begin to grow more quickly, exponentially," Hermione said rapidly, as if reciting. "A mage's magic reaches its pinnacle when the mage turns seventeen."

"At some point, it goes faster?" Harry frowned. "When is that point?"

"It's different for everyone!" Hermione said, her voice high-pitched. "It's just – it's just a thing that happens. Part of growing up!"

Harry still looked puzzled, Neville even more confused, but Luna turned to Hermione.

"I think it's age-related," she said. "Nearly all the fourth-years have the fluctuation in their aura indicating their magic expanding quickly, and some of the third and second, too. Not many, though."

Hermione waved it off, face flaming. "I'm sure everyone will reach that point sooner or later."

Luna nodded amicably.

"I won't for another few months or so," she said. "I foresaw it."

"You- you foresaw it?" Hermione said, haltingly.

"Oh, yes," Luna said. "It's going to be terribly embarrassing. I'll be in pale blue robes when it happens, and when I stand up, everyone will—"

"Oh look!" Hermione said loudly, interrupting. "It's Ronald!"

They all turned to see Ron trudging up the hill, his face vaguely green.

"'m never casting that curse again," Ron vowed, collapsing onto one of the benches. "Urgh. I haven't been able to get the taste of slugs out of my mouth for hours."

"Not even with Hagrid's rock cakes?" Neville asked.

Ron snorted. "I'm not _that_ desperate," he said. "I _like_ having all my teeth."

"Ron, this is Hermione's friend Luna," Harry said. He looked at Luna. "Luna Lovegood, was it?"

Luna nodded, and offered Ron a short curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you."

Ron nodded, giving Luna a skeptical look.

"Are you the one who lives near The Burrow? The girl who sees imaginary things?" he asked. "Ginny was going on about you seeing things that aren't there-"

"Ronald!" Hermione's voice snapped. "Luna is a Seer. If she sees things that the rest of us can't, that doesn't mean they aren't _there_. It means that _we_ are blind to them."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"A Seer?" he sounded impressed. "That's- that's kind of cool. Can you see my future?"

Luna tilted her head at him, and Ron got more excited.

"You _can_ , can't you?" he said, eagerly. "Can you see if I become Quidditch captain? Or Head Boy?"

Luna gave an ambivalent shrug.

"That far off is hard to see without a prophecy coming to me," she said. "I can't see much farther than a few months away."

"What _can_ you see?" Ron pressed.

"That the three of you boys are going to have a miserable Halloween," Luna said. She was staring off as if into nothing, and then she smiled. "Ooh, and it's going to get even _worse_ afterward."

"That's not very nice!" Ron objected. Luna shrugged.

"I see what I see," she said. "Life isn't always nice, you know."

Neville looked frightened, but Harry looked thoughtful.

"Are we going to be injured?" he asked Luna.

Luna fixed her eyes on him. "None of _you three_ will be physically injured," she told him.

Only Hermione caught the emphasis in her tone.

 _Someone is going to get hurt_ , she realized, cold seeping into her bones. _And after the disaster that was my_ _ **last**_ _Halloween…_

"Is there anything I can do to make sure I don't get hurt either, Luna?" Hermione asked politely.

Luna fixed her watery blue eyes on her, but there was a sharp intelligence to them that was usually masked.

"Don't go anywhere alone."


	99. Unfortunately-Shared Information

Hermione and Luna eventually headed off, as Ron and Harry had to serve their detention that night – their punishment for the flying car. Hermione took pleasure in helping Luna with a couple questions she had on her Transfiguration homework, and Luna's stories about Potions class made Hermione laugh and laugh.

"You _can't_ just put in an ingredient and tell Professor Snape that it 'felt right'," she said, wiping her eyes, tears of laughter clinging there. "He'll _slaughter_ you."

Luna shrugged, ambivalent. "It had a good aura around it. And the nettles _did_ help the potion."

Hermione smiled. "I remember putting nettles into my Boil-Cure potion, too," she admitted. "Though I had a textbook to back me up, when Professor Snape demanded to know why I'd done it."

"If I did the same thing that you did, why is it okay when you do it and not when I do?" Luna objected.

"Probably because he's trying to make sure everyone follows the directions and stays safe," Hermione guessed. "He probably doesn't view 'it felt right' as a valid reason to deviate from instructions."

Luna crossed her arms, but she smiled. "That's his failing then, not mine."

Hermione was still laughing as they entered the Great Hall.

Not many people were around yet – dinner hours were more flexible on the weekends – but there were a fair few Slytherins Hermione recognized, including her friends.

"Hermione," Blaise said, grinning. "Good to see you survived seeing the Headmaster. As well as your little snit afterward."

"Oh, go boil your head," Hermione snapped, and Blaise laughed.

"I mean it in the best possible way, I assure you," he said. He turned to Luna and nodded. "Miss Lovegood."

"Luna, if you please," Luna said, her voice happy.

Blaise grinned. "Then you must call me Blaise."

"What're you all doing at dinner early?" Theo said, sitting down across from them. "None of you are in the Gobstones Club to go to the tournament tonight."

"Can't a girl just be hungry?" Millie objected.

Tracey looked surprised. " _You're_ in the Gobstones Club?"

Theo snorted. " _No."_ He smirked. "But the Weasley Twins _might_ be running a book on the odds."

Several of them chuckled at that.

"Gobstones," Blaise said, rolling his eyes with a grin. "Such _excitement_ we have here at Hogwarts, don't we?"

"Nothing exciting happens until Halloween," Tracey said, shrugging. "Not unless someone gets into trouble."

"Well, there's Hermione's birthday on the 19th," Luna said. "Other than that, it's just classes and Quidditch practice, really."

"Wait, Hermione's birthday?" Blaise said.

"Your birthday is coming up?" Tracey squealed.

Hermione turned to give Luna a dark look.

"How did you know when my birthday was?" Hermione demanded.

Luna's eyes sparkled. "I must have Seen it around somewhere."

Hermione groaned.

"We should throw you a party!" Tracey said immediately. "We can get the House Elves to bring a cake to the common room-"

" _No,_ " Hermione said strongly. " _No_ common room party. It's ostentatious when the older snobby students do it, and all it does it make other people feel excluded or annoyed at the noise."

Tracey sniffed, folding her arms. "Well, _I_ think we should throw you a party."

Hermione glowered. " _No_ party in the common room."

"Forget the party – I'm more concerned what sort of gifts we should get you," Blaise said, grinning. "You'll be thirteen, yes?"

"You don't need to get me gifts!" Hermione objected. "It's not like we celebrate each other's birthdays formally in school!"

"You gave me a gift when I had my birthday last year," Tracey said obstinately. "I still use the quill you gave me."

"You gave me something, too," Millie pointed out. "A day planner."

Blaise shot Hermione a mocking hurt look. "Nothing for me?"

"I didn't know when your birthday was," Hermione muttered, looking away.

Blaise laughed. "It's January 6th."

At least that would be easy to remember, Hermione noted. That was the Feast of the Epiphany.

"But that settles it," Blaise declared. "Seeing as we're friends, and we _do_ get each other gifts for holidays we _know_ about, Hermione clearly needs to receive gifts on her most special day."

"Hermione needs what?"

Draco looked interested as he sat down at the table, and Hermione groaned.

" _Nothing_. I don't need-"

"Hermione's birthday is on the 19th," Blaise told him, eyes dancing. "She's objecting that she doesn't need any gifts for it."

Draco looked excited, then abruptly horrified.

"You don't want gifts?" he said. "Do you not trust us to get you appropriate things?"

"What?" Hermione said. "No, it's-"

"The only time I've heard of someone refusing gifts for their birthday was because the previous year, someone had sent them a Silent Strangler disguised as a house plant," Luna commented, her voice airy and non-committal. "I suppose if you are worried that someone in Slytherin is out to get you, refusing gifts is a smart thing to do."

"No one's out to get Hermione," Draco said vehemently.

Hermione snorted despite herself. "Are you sure about that?" she challenged.

Draco paused and swallowed, uneasy, and looked away.

"At least no one _here_ is out to get you," he asserted. "Right?"

Hermione glanced around. Pansy wasn't around, nor were Draco's lackeys, or any of the older Slytherins she was watching out for.

She sighed. "I suppose not."

"Excellent," Blaise said, clapping his hands. "Then we'll all get you gifts as planned."

Immediately, Tracey and Millie turned to each other and began brainstorming, casting glances over Tracey's shoulder at Hermione to giggle from time to time. Theo looked thoughtful, and Draco was loudly proclaiming that he was going to get her something really good for her birthday, with Blaise challenging him on if he even knew what she would consider 'good' or not.

Hermione sighed.

"Look," she began. "No one really needs to-"

"But they _do_ , Hermione," Luna said. She tugged Hermione's hand, turning Hermione to look at her, her wide blue eyes meeting hers. "Hermione, this is important to them."

"Important to _them?_ " Hermione questioned. "It's _my_ birthday. Why-"

"Gift-giving traditions are especially important when giving fealty to another," Luna told her seriously. "Your friends have been raised with this expectation to the point that it is ingrained in them."

" _Fealty?_ " Hermione repeated, gaping. "Luna, I'm their _classmate_ -"

"They look up to you," Luna insisted. "Even if you aren't accepting sworn followers yet, they respect you as-"

" _Sworn followers?"_ Hermione hissed. "Luna, you are taking this _way_ too far-"

"Am I?" Luna said calmly.

"I don't have _followers_ ," Hermione said. "I have _friends._ That's _it_."

"So far," Luna acknowledged. "That can change." She tilted her head. "Tell me, Hermione; do you remember the prophecy I gave you?"

Hermione smiled weakly despite herself. "Of course. How could I ever forget it?"

"Then why are you questioning your destiny?"

"The prophecy said I was New Blood," Hermione argued. "And the viper born to Muggles who would change the world."

Luna shook her head. "Oh, Hermione. You need to remember and listen."

She took a deep breath and seemed to settle into herself. The air around her shifted, and Hermione realized a moment too late what she was trying to do.

"No, Luna, just-"

" _The viper borne to Muggles shall be the New Blood to change the world_."

Luna's eyes had rolled back in her head, only the whites showing. Her hair was drifting up and around her, moving as if caught in an unseen wind. Her voice was oddly harsh and scratchy, not like Luna's usual dreamy tone at all. Hermione winced, and from the corner of her eye she could see Blaise and Draco turn sharply to listen to her.

" _By clearing the cluttered path with those who answer her call,_ " Luna intoned. " _Whether gifted or claimed, true, faked, or false, pure magic unfurled; the she-serpent borne of teeth shall rise and triumph over them all._ "

There was a brief silence before Luna coughed several times, her eyes watering and flickering back open and up to Hermione.

"See?"

"Was that really necessary?" Hermione hissed. "Now everyone-"

"'By clearing the cluttered path with those who answer her call'," Luna repeated calmly. "Tell me, Hermione; if the people who will answer your call aren't your followers, who _are_ they?"

Luna's eyes were large, open, and eerily wise. Hermione couldn't keep looking at her and broke away, looking to the table.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted.

Luna reached out, tucking a piece of Hermione hair behind her ear with affection.

"Then relax," she said, offering Hermione a smile as she caressed her cheek. "And just let your destiny come."

Hermione flushed. "I- I guess."

Luna beamed at her and turned back to the table, helping herself to a sandwich, Hermione eventually doing the same. From nearby, Hermione could hear Tracey engaging Luna in conversation, wanting to know how her eyes rolled up like that and if it hurt, Luna answering in her usual dreamy tone. Hermione bit her lip and focused on her lunch, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

It was odd. She didn't like being the center of attention in such a way. It was one thing, to have all her friends know when her birthday and have them want to make a big deal out of it. Even as she liked her friends caring about it, it made her shift in a slightly uncomfortable way. She didn't really like it; it made her feel self conscious.

But Luna... did she _have_ to repeat her prophecy at the dinner table?

Hermione had mentioned that she was prophesied to be New Blood, but it felt _weird_ to her to have other people actually hear the prophecy itself. And as much as she was intending on forming a Great House, it was distinctly unnerving to have her classmates hear that she was prophesied to change the world and 'triumph over them all'. _Especially_ the other Slytherins, who would take distinct note of Luna's words.

Hermione sighed, refilling her goblet. Maybe she was catastrophizing. So her friends would get her trinkets for her birthday - so what? She'd given them gifts for their birthdays, too, and it had been fine. And the prophecy... well, she'd told everyone about that already, so that was fine. Everything would be _fine,_ she told herself. Everything would be fine.

Though, Hermione wasn't sure she liked the mischievous glint she could see in Blaise's eyes, nor the speculative gleam she could spot in Draco's either.


	100. Voices Heard

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from her books to see Harry, looking anxious. She blinked.

"Harry," she greeted. "You're not often in the library on a Sunday."

"I'm not. I need to talk to you about something."

Harry looked serious, all traces of amusement gone from his face.

"Am I to understand that here is not a safe place to discuss such matters…?" Hermione asked delicately.

Harry gave her a short nod, and Hermione put her books away in her bag, stashing away her quills.

"Lead the way," she said, gesturing, and Harry led them out of the library.

To her surprise, instead of taking her to an empty classroom or to the Gryffindor common room, he led her outside, down to Hagrid's pumpkin patch. As they drew near, she could see other figures there as well – one standing patiently, and one trying to balance on a pumpkin without crushing it.

"Neville," Hermione said pleasantly, offering him a nod. Her eyes turned to the other, her nose wrinkling at the strong smell of polish he carried. "Ron."

"Hermione," Neville said with a smile. "Good to see you here."

"Alright, Harry," Ron said. "You've got us all here. Now – what's going on?"

Looking around first, Harry haltingly began to tell them what had happened at his detention the previous night – helping Lockhart answer his fan mail for hours, addressing the envelopes and adding the signed photos, before a chilling voice came through.

"It said _what?_ " Neville said, gasping.

Harry cleared his throat and tried again, pitching his voice to be breathy, cold, and venomous.

" _Come… Come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…"_

He cleared his throat again, looking back to them all. "Like that."

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" Ron said, frowning. "D'you think he was lying?"

"He seemed genuinely surprised," Harry said.

"I don't get it," Ron said. "Even someone invisible would have had to open the door."

Neville looked unsure. "Hearing voices isn't a good thing, Harry. Are you sure you weren't just half asleep?"

Harry looked insulted. " _Yes_ , I'm sure!"

"Okay, okay!" Neville said, quickly backing down.

Harry turned to Hermione, frowning. "What do you think, Hermione?"

Hermione was drumming her fingers along her lip, contemplating.

"If we accept that there was an external voice that you heard and Lockhart did not, then you must possess some hearing ability that he does not, or he lacks some hearing ability the rest of us have," Hermione mused. "Unless the voice was in your head. I don't know if telepathy is a thing the wizarding world has, but I wouldn't be surprised."

"Tele-what?" Ron wanted to know.

"You mean, like mind reading?" Harry asked.

"More like 'mind-speaking', but essentially yes," Hermione clarified. "It might be possible that someone spoke to you directly, projecting their words into your head."

Harry's eyes were wide.

"I don't like that," he said. "I don't want people in my head!"

Hermione shrugged. "Then we'll have to find a way to keep them out."

"I think it's more likely that Lockhart just wasn't paying attention," Ron said, scoffing. "It's not like that git pays much attention to anything beyond himself."

It wasn't often that Hermione found herself agreeing with Ron entirely.

* * *

Sunday night found Hermione sitting in the Slytherin common room quietly, next to the window peering into the depths of the lake, practicing meditation.

Meditation seemed very similar to Occlumency techniques, and Hermione was determined that if she could just exist without _thinking_ , in a calm, meditative state, it would help her learn to shield her thoughts.

Not that she understood how to exist _without_ thinking. The very idea felt like anathema.

But Hermione was willing to try.

The drifting bits of seaweed she could see and the shadows of creatures further away helped her mind somewhat, if she focused on just perceiving, not analyzing. She kept feeling like she was half falling asleep, and she didn't know if that meant she was doing it correctly, or if she should be trying to do this earlier in the day.

"Hermione?"

Her concentration broken, Hermione covered her mouth and yawned widely, before turning to see Draco, holding a folded piece of parchment.

"Yes, Draco?" she asked, blinking up at him.

Draco sank into a chair next to her.

"I got them," he told her.

Hermione blinked.

"Got what?" she asked.

Draco glanced around the room.

"You know," he said quietly. "The _components_."

Hermione abruptly felt wide awake.

" _Already?_ " she hissed. "I only told you _yesterday_."

"You said we needed everything by Tuesday," Draco shot back. "Or we'd have to wait _two weeks_."

"I was _expecting_ it to take a couple weeks," Hermione said. "To get all that so quickly-"

"Well, I got it. Look."

Draco thrust the parchment in his hands at her, and Hermione took it, eyes working to make out the fancy handwriting.

 _Draco,_

 _I am torn. I would tell you that you are too young to be practicing ritual magic, only that's not true – you successfully did The Fallen Foe the year prior, and students used to learn rituals in classes at your age not all that many centuries ago. Ritual magic is dangerous, son, and I urge you to use caution. That being said, a ritual that can successfully shield your mind, especially from the Headmaster, is worth the minimal risk you would undertake._

 _The bag is charmed with a feather-light spell; once dispelled, it carries eight pounds of powdered silver. I trust that will be sufficient for your needs._

 _The silvered mirror is your mother's. She would be most distressed if it were to break._

 _The seax is your aunt's. I believe the blade is silver, though the handle is carved obsidian. Should you continue this path, the set of her ritual knives also includes an athame and a boline._

 _The fire seeds are in oil. They are very volatile and strong. Do not set your robes aflame._

 _The liquid silver is in the silver cauldron you requested. A strong containment charm has been laid over the opening to protect you from its fumes. Be careful, Draco – liquid silver is not something to toy with lightly._

 _I advise you and your friend to be careful. This does not sound like a dangerous ritual – I suspect the worst outcome you will have if it does not go successfully is a headache – but these components are dangerous. A few are also restricted. I advise you not to be caught with them._

 _They were also expensive components. Do **not** put them to waste. _

_In return, if this ritual is successful, I would like a copy of it in exchange for providing you with your components._

 _Yours,_

 _Lucius Malfoy_

Hermione looked up from the letter at Draco, who was vibrating slightly next to her.

"It seems a reasonable request," Draco said, his voice even, "to give him a copy of the ritual in exchange."

He was doing a very good job keeping the note of anxiety out of his voice, Hermione noticed, but she could see it flickering in his eyes.

"Is it?" she mused. "To help the man that hurts you?"

"It's not like that. And he _helped_ us," Draco argued. "There's no way we would have been able to get all this otherwise."

"Still," Hermione said. "I wonder what your father would want to hide…"

Draco looked uneasy, and Hermione sighed.

"This is fine," she conceded. "If the ritual is successful, I will give you a copy to send to your father. You can add any notes you feel necessary in your letter to him."

Immediately, Draco's countenance relaxed, and his confident posture returned to him.

"So, Tuesday night?" he questioned. "Where at?"

"The top of the Astronomy tower," Hermione said. "After class is over. The moon will be clearest up there, and it's less likely for us to be caught."

Draco frowned. "We'll be out after midnight."

"There's no later curfew for students in Astronomy," Hermione said, shrugging. "If we say we were working later on our homework, how can a teacher object, when we're _supposed_ to be out late?"

Draco looked uneasy, and Hermione sighed.

"Where do you want to do it?" she offered. "If you know of another place instead…"

Draco's eyes gleamed.

"As it so happens, I do."

He stood, tucking the letter away in his robes, and offered Hermione a hand.

"Come with me?"

Hermione remained in her chair a long moment, looking at Draco's hand, before finally taking it, allowing him to tug her to her feet. Doing so put them very close together, and Draco's eyes were wide before he took a step back, looking away from her. His face was flustered.

"Let's go." His tone was even, but only just. Hermione wondered if he was that unused to having his personal space invaded. Did he never receive hugs? She imagined a stuck-up family like the Malfoys might not be big on physical affection. It was somewhat tragic to consider, Hermione mused. She couldn't imagine how lonely growing up would have been without her parents' hugs.

Draco led her down a corridor of the dungeons, then around a turn, past Snape's office, then around a turn again. They stopped in front of a long stretch of wall.

"Here."

Draco reached out to touch one of the stones in the wall. The stones glowed slightly, and Draco tapped out a quick pattern on them, and they silently moved aside, revealing a dark tunnel.

"Just like at Diagon Alley," Hermione breathed. She looked at Draco. "Why is this here? How did you know of this?"

Draco's eyes flashed. "Let's not get into that."

Hermione considered.

A secret way in and out of the castle, in the depths of the dungeon, that Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, somehow knew about…

"Yes," she said finally. "Let's not."

Draco smiled faintly.

"This leads up to one of the areas behind the castle, at the base," he told her. "It's a good area to remain unseen – it's shielded by shrubs." He paused. "Should we still do the ritual after Astronomy? Or before?"

Hermione considered.

"Before," she said decisively. "Not only is there less chance of getting into trouble, but we'll also be more awake and have more of our magical strength about us."

"Then… I'll meet you here on Tuesday at nine?" Draco asked, hesitant.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You'll approach me in the common room, like you would for anything mundane," she told him. "Just have the ritual components in your bag instead of your school books. Okay?"

Draco made a face.

"That doesn't feel very appropriate," he said. "Just going up to you like this was any old thing."

"We're already casting an untested ritual," Hermione told him, incredulous, "and you're upset that there's not more _drama_ to it all?"

Draco's pale skin flushed pink, and Hermione snickered.

"Fine," she conceded. "We'll compromise – meet me in the common room, but bring the ritual components how your father packaged them. Everyone who sees us leave together will wonder what we're up to with a pure silver cauldron so late at night." She tilted her head. "Will that satisfy your need to be dramatic?"

"I don't have a need to be dramatic!" Draco objected, but his cheeks blushed an even brighter red, and Hermione laughed.

"Oh Draco, you do," she said, amused. She reached up and cupped one of his blushing cheeks, the skin hot against her hand. "Everyone in Slytherin knows it. Just acknowledge it and move on."

She could hear his breath catch in his throat, and Draco wouldn't meet her eyes. Hermione laughed and backed off, pulling her hand away. He seemed genuinely embarrassed.

"It's almost curfew," she told him. "I'll just go back now, and you can come back right before curfew to make a scene."

"I do _not_ need to make a scene-!"

Hermione laughed as Draco followed her down the corridor, objecting. Hermione rolled her eyes and retorted, and they bickered happily all the way back to the common room.

Really, though. If Draco Malfoy wasn't a Drama Queen, the term held no meaning at all.


	101. The Mystery of the Yeti

**A/N: There was some timeline misunderstanding. In universe, they've only had one week of classes, it's currently around September 8th, and Hermione's birthday isn't for a couple weeks still. The canon timeline does not line up with real life.**

 **The Ritual will be in 102, and Hermione's birthday in 106.**

* * *

Monday seemed to drag by. Hermione mastered her Transfiguration on the first try, and she spent the rest of the class trying to teach Greg and Vince the difference between a wand flick and a wand jab. Not for the first time, she wondered at their dexterity – their hands didn't seem dexterous enough to adequately perform the complex movements needed for Transfiguration.

At least they'd have a chance at Defense, if they ever got a half-decent teacher. Dueling spells seemed to need very little in the way of wand movements. They all seemed to be jabs or dramatic swishes, which these two could do just fine.

History dragged by, with Professor Binns prattling on about the plague and witch hunts. Hermione ignored him, instead slowly wading her way through _The Songe of the Beastes,_ a guide and glossary to Middle English open next to her. So far, she'd only made it through half the introduction (a whopping two pages), but she was intrigued. The respect and excitement the author held about the natural world was interesting – and unusual to see in the wizarding world, Hermione admitted. Most wizards didn't seem to pay much attention to natural the world beyond what use they could get out of it. It was intriguing to read words from a wizard who loved nature so much.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the last class of the day, shared with the Gryffindors and taught by Lockhart. It was her least favorite class of them all. Ever since the disaster with the pixies, Lockhart had taken to dramatically acting out scenes from his books, often calling on volunteers to help him. He frequently called on Harry, despite Harry's embarrassment and utter desire to just be left alone. Today, Lockhart had moved onto _Year with the Yeti_ , detailing his adventures in the mountains of Tibet.

"-what you need to really be careful of there is the _snow_. It's not like the snow here, oh no! The snow in the mountains is- ah, yes, a question?"

Hermione turned to see one of the Gryffindor girls raising her hand.

"Professor Lockhart?" the girl said, blushing. She ran her hand along her long black braid. "I was just wondering – I've been to Tibet, and the authorities made sure we stayed well away from the yeti. They said they would attack and eat anything they meet."

"Yes, very true," Lockhart said, nodding. "Yeti are dangerous, Dark creatures! Very probably related to trolls, though no one has ever gotten close enough to study one-"

"Wait, they're related to trolls?" Hermione found herself interrupting despite herself, curious. Lockhart's eyes turned to her.

"How do you _know_ that?" she asked. "I know your book says you spent the year protecting the village from yeti attacks, but how does that help you know they're related to trolls?"

"Well, they fear fire," Lockhart told her, with a winning grin. "Very similar to trolls. A skilled witch or wizard equipped with a fire spell can repel a yeti – as I did, when they attacked the village-"

"But it _fears_ fire?" Hermione clarified. "It's not _hurt_ by it?"

"It's fire, Granger," one of the other Gryffindor girls snapped. She tossed her blonde hair haughtily. "Of course it's hurt by it."

"Then why hasn't a yeti ever been studied?" Hermione challenged. "If they're _harmed_ by fire, surely one would have been killed and examined by now, the same as trolls. But they've only ever run away from fire, correct? Despite some presumably catching on fire?"

Her eyes met Lockhart's, and he shrugged amicably.

"They run," he said. "I've never seen a well-cast fire spell not work at chasing a yeti away, but I'll say I've never seen a yeti on fire, either!"

He chuckled to himself, giving them all a roguish wink, and Hermione had to suppress her nausea.

"Bet he's never seen a yeti, _period_ ," Blaise hissed.

Hermione nodded.

"But how is it not _hurt_ by fire?" she wanted to know, whispering. "Afraid of fire, sure – but trolls _burn_ when they're on fire. As most things do. How do yeti get hit with fire but not burn?"

Blaise shrugged.

"Can't take Care of Magical Creatures until next year," he told her. "We'll find out then, I suppose."

* * *

Hermione was still wondering about it later at dinner, when Luna came over.

"It just doesn't make sense," Hermione said, stabbing her dinner with her fork moodily. "How can an animal be _immune_ to fire?"

Luna tilted her head, her wide eyes looking at Hermione curiously.

"Dragons are immune to fire," she commented.

"Yes, but that _makes sense_ ," Hermione snapped. "Dragons have fire magic _inside of them._ They _breathe_ fire. Yetis don't breathe fire."

Luna shrugged.

"Maybe they do," she said. "Daddy says that yeti are really rare and hard to study. Maybe they only breathe fire in private for their families."

A domestic scene of giant, 15 foot tall shaggy white sasquatch played out in Hermione's mind, the tallest yeti in an apron gifting a carefully-cooked pie to its yeti children sitting domestically at the kitchen table, and she snorted.

"It's _possible_ , but not _probable,_ " she said. "If they could breathe fire, they'd know not to be afraid of it."

Luna blinked up at her. "Maybe they don't know it's the same."

Hermione sighed, letting the topic drop.

It was when she was going to bed that night, as she was practicing levitating her bed, the air elemental inside of her dancing around as she exhausted her power, that the answer slammed into her.

The fire magic of a yeti wouldn't manifest as _fire,_ like it did with a dragon. It would manifest as _heat_.

The fire magic would keep the yeti warm.

It seemed so _obvious_ in retrospect. Of _course_ they would have fire magic of some sort inside of them. They had to _keep warm_ , high in the mountains of the Himalayas. Nothing else could live as high up as the yeti did – because nothing else could stand against the freezing temperatures that the yeti endured.

Hermione let her bed settle back onto the ground, her mind racing.

"Dragons have fire magic," she murmured to herself. "I always presumed that they had some sort of magic fire-producing organ in their throats. But if yeti have fire magic too… what does that _mean?_ "

Hermione very clearly remembered the night of New Year's Eve, standing with her professor atop a cliff, the feeling of being overpowered by an air elemental until she finally won out, subduing it and making it a part of her.

If she could do that with air, maybe the yeti did it with fire, somehow. Or they were born with it inside of them, like dragons were.

But if the yeti had a fire elemental inside of them, giving them immunity to fire, allowing them to not be burned…

What would happen if Hermione tried with a fire elemental, too?


	102. The Occlumency Ritual

"I thought you said we needed to do this in powdered silver."

"We _do_ ," Hermione said quietly. "But it's easier this way to see where we need to put it down."

She proceeded to ignore Draco, focusing on drawing out the circles necessary on the brick on the ground with chalk. She'd insisted they sneak into the courtyard so she could write on the stones. It was after dark, and while curfew hadn't technically fallen yet, Hermione strongly suspected if they were found, they'd be made to go back inside.

"Here, you can trace over the lines I've already drawn with the silver," she told Draco. "Be careful not to leave any gaps."

"Got it."

Finally finishing, Hermione stood and stepped back, examining her work.

The circle was large – very large, as it had to hold both of them. Inside of the circle were two smaller circles, both adorned with triangles, smaller circles, and lines. An array of runes surrounded the outer circle, marking the border.

"Why are there triangles?" Draco asked, tracing the lines. "I thought we were just using a circle."

"The triangles direct the flow of energy and stabilize it," Hermione said idly, bending over to fix a rune. "The channels and veins help, but the triangles help give the magic stronger purpose and direction."

Draco shot her a look. "Where did you learn that?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, before pausing.

"In a book," she said finally. "I don't remember which one. I've collected a few on ritual magic, now."

Draco gave her a suspicious look but turned back to his task, tracing out the lines.

Hermione walked around the border of the circle, carefully, making sure there were no gaps. The powdered silver gleamed under the light of the full moon, and Hermione felt shivers of anticipation sweep through her as a cool wind blew.

There was something _magical_ about doing magic under an open sky, with your will and your words controlling the world.

"The fire seeds go in the semi-circles," Hermione directed Draco. "Put the seax and the mirror in the center. I'll handle the mercury."

"All yours," Draco said, giving her the small cauldron. "I don't want to be anywhere _near_ the stuff."

Carefully, Hermione began to spill small amounts of the mercury in specific smaller circles inside the larger one, before casting quick air containment charms over each circle. The air containment charm was one of the few spells ever used in Potions class, and Hermione was glad she was proficient with it at this point – mercury vapors could be deadly.

"All done," Draco told her. "Now what?"

Hermione put the rest of the mercury in the cauldron outside of the large circle, directing him to put down the rest of the powdered silver as well.

"Step into your circle," she directed him, lifting her robes. "Careful – you don't want to break the silver. No, that one – that one's yours. "

"Does it matter?" Draco groused. "They're the same."

Hermione settled herself into her inner circle as Draco sat down in his. She folded her legs, draping her robes carefully around her. Draco mimicked her.

"This is how this is going to work," Hermione told him. "Pay attention."

Draco sat up and paid attention.

"You and I are going to invoke our magic," she told him. "We are going to channel it through the veins of the circle, past the liquid silver, and over the mirror. The goal is for our magic to take on the reflective qualities of the silver and the mirror before it reaches each other."

"To reflect a mental attack back at the Legilimens?" Draco questioned, and Hermione beamed.

"Exactly." She pointed to the seax, the small silver blade winking in the moonlight. "After we have raised our magic, we will cut our hands and clasp them together, blood to blood. This will give our magic the path it needs into each other to shield the other's mind."

She watched him carefully for a reaction, but Draco had no visible reaction at the thought of touching his 'pure' blood to hers, beyond looking faintly nervous.

"And then what?"

"Then our magic will transfer," Hermione said. "We should be able to feel the other's magic in our head, forming a shield in front of our thoughts. After the ritual is over, we'll only feel it again if someone tries to invade our thoughts – we'll become immediately aware of something foreign in our head."

"How does the ritual end?" Draco asked, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Err… it doesn't really have a defined ending time," she admitted. Draco's eyes widened, and she hurried to explain. "This ritual is all about transference and balance. Once one of us decides we've transferred enough magic to the other, that person will pull back with their magic, back through the circle to themself, and the other person should follow suit."

"What determines 'enough'?" Draco wanted to know, and Hermione shrugged.

"Honestly? At this point, just pull back when you feel you're reaching the end of your available magic pool," Hermione told him. She paused. "You… _can_ sense your pool of magic, can't you?"

Draco looked insulted, and Hermione relaxed.

"Anyway, I'm confident I'll be able to match whatever magical output you have," she told him. "So when you begin to pull back, I'll just match you and withdraw as well."

"I thought this was about us establishing ourselves as equals," Draco objected.

"It _is_ ," Hermione emphasized. "Just because I have more magic available to me than you do doesn't mean I'll _use_ any more than you in the ritual."

Draco scowled. "How do you know that _you're_ the stronger one?"

Hermione was caught so off-guard she laughed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, trying to stop her amusement and giggles. "It's just – look. Draco. We can get into this later, but for now, just trust me, okay?"

Draco looked insulted, and Hermione rolled her eyes, laughing.

"Look – if it will comfort you, if you have more power than me, then I'll pull back first," she told him. "Doesn't matter either way, okay? And after that, we'll have had a clean transference, and we can stop holding hands, end the ritual, and try to clean all this up before Astronomy."

Draco looked at her, his silver eyes echoing the spilled mercury on the ground.

"Okay," he said. "Ready when you are."

The air around them shifted with intent, with their purpose, and Hermione sat up straighter.

"Okay," she whispered. She closed her eyes. "Here we go."

The chant was a mashup of two – parts from a protection ritual, and parts from a transference ritual. Hermione was careful with the words, making sure to get them right, and after a few recitations, she heard Draco join her, his low voice blending with hers.

As their voices chanted, Hermione could feel her magic stretching within her, rousing itself and waking up at her call. She could feel part of it stretch out, exploring, going out of her and through the channels of the circle, where it took on a colder, reflective feeling, before stopping in the middle, near Draco, as if it hit a wall.

A moment later, there was a feeling of something waiting, trying to reach her, and Hermione's eyes flickered open, meeting Draco's a moment later.

"The knife," she whispered, and Draco reached for it, handing it to her.

Careful, Hermione took the small dagger, carefully setting the sheath aside.

"With this cut, I freely bleed," she murmured, pulling the blade across the palm of her left hand, sharp pain lancing up her hand. "May my magic protect you in time of need."

Blood welled up in her hand, and she cupped it to not let it drop as Draco took the dagger.

"With this cut, I freely bleed," he repeated, cutting his hand. He breathed in sharply, stiffening. "May my magic protect you in time of need."

He carefully set the dagger aside and turned to Hermione.

She gave him a small smile, offering him her hand.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Draco's eyes flashed, and after a moment, he clasped their hands together, firm.

Immediately there was a whirl of sensation, and Hermione's mind spun, trying to keep up. Her magic, cool and reflective, was going into Draco's mind. She was vaguely aware of his mind, an entity her magic was painting a shield in front of, though she could not see into his thoughts. Simultaneously, there was a feeling of fire forming a shield in her _own_ mind, tightly-woven cables of reflective fire weaving themselves into armor for her thoughts. The magic in her mind was _different_ , and Hermione could distinctly feel Draco's magic in her mind as she could feel her own in his.

His magic continued to pour into her, and Hermione continued to let hers flow out of her.

Her magic was about half empty, she could feel, when Draco began to struggle, shaking slightly where he sat.

"Draco?" Hermione murmured. It was hard to remember words, with so much magic rushing through her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm… fine…" Draco grit his teeth. "Just a little more…"

Their magic continued to transfer, building stronger and stronger barriers for the other. Hermione watched her own magic, mildly curious at how it kept regenerating quickly. It never seemed to go down past half gone.

Draco clenched her hand abruptly, and Hermione's eyes flew to his.

"Draco-?"

"I'm _fine_ ," he said. "I just-"

He broke off abruptly, shuddering violently as his eyes fell shut and he slumped over, his breathing shallow. There was a sudden feeling of an oncoming wave, and immediately, Hermione became aware of what was going on – Draco was pouring _all_ of his energy into the ritual. She'd thought he'd pull back when he had only a little left, but instead, he was pushing it _all_ at her, every bit of available magic power he had.

He was leaving _none_ for himself.

Hermione's eyes went wide, panic and fear seizing her heart.

But it was _mid-ritual._ Hermione could do _nothing._ She couldn't stop him, couldn't yell at him for his stupid male ego, couldn't admonish him for putting himself in danger trying to prove a point that he was stronger. She had to finish it safely, or they'd _both_ be at risk.

She couldn't help. All she could do was balance his energy to finish the ritual.

And so she pushed a matching wave of her own energy at him.


	103. Blaise's Fury

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned in the hallway, stiffening as Blaise came storming up to her.

"Blaise, hi– aah!"

Blaise grabbed her arm and tugged her down the hall into an empty classroom, shoving the door shut behind them. He advanced on her, looking furious, and Hermione instinctively stepped back, running into a desk. She squirmed up and onto it, just to get away another few inches from Blaise's fury. She could feel her chest tighten in apprehension, making it harder to breathe.

She'd _never_ seen Blaise angry like this before.

 _Ever_.

"What," he said, his voice dangerous, "did you _do?_ "

Hermione nibbled her lip, weighing her words.

"I'm not quite sure I know what you're talking about," she said carefully. "I've done many things recently."

Blaise's eyes sharpened.

"Draco Malfoy is unconscious in the Hospital Wing due to _magical exhaustion_ ," he said, his voice like a whip. "Everyone saw you leave the common room together last night. And Susan Bones saw you come running up the stairs with him last night, unconscious in your arms."

Well, of _course_ she'd gone running to the Hospital Wing – Hermione hadn't known _what_ had happened to Draco, only that his hand had dropped hers as he fell forward, his eyes rolling back in his head, the ritual done. She'd been worried he'd somehow started using his life force as well as his magic, and she'd been terrified he could be dying right in front of her.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione shot back. "I could never carry Draco – I'm not strong enough. I partially-levitated him there, sure – but I certainly wasn't cradling him in my arms."

Blaise rolled his eyes.

" _That's_ what you choose to focus on?" he demanded. " _That?_ "

Hermione paused.

"Err–"

"Madame Pomfrey is in a fuss, demanding to know what Draco was doing that drained his magic so completely," Blaise told her. "Snape is deflecting, saying Draco just pushed himself too far with his studies, which we all know is complete crap. And Draco, unconscious, has a _cut_ on his hand…"

Blaise snatched her left wrist, too quick for Hermione to get away.

"…one that somehow _matches_ yours."

Hermione could feel his eyes searing on the scar on her palm. She'd been so frantic she hadn't had time to heal it properly.

Hermione bit her lip. "And…?"

Blaise's eyes were dark, though he seemed less angry, now.

"Some of us in Slytherin know you were messing around with Ritual Magic," he told her. "Malfoy was showing off his seax to us yesterday, as well as the powdered silver he got. And now, he's mysteriously in the Hospital Wing, nearly all of his magic gone."

"It'll regenerate," Hermione said uncertainly. "It just… it might take a while."

Blaise's eyes met hers, his gaze like fire.

"You did Ritual Magic," he said. "With Draco Malfoy."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Yes," she admitted. "I did."

Blaise let out a roar.

"I can't _believe_ this!"

He clenched his fists over his eyes, storming around the room. Hermione drew back, almost afraid, as he stomped around, angry. She'd never seen Blaise like this.

"I can't believe you did Ritual Magic with _Malfoy_!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe you would–"

"It was supposed to be safe," Hermione objected. "If Draco hadn't been trying to–"

"–do such a thing without _me!_ "

Hermione paused.

"Wait," she said. "What?"

"Did you think I was _joking_ when I said I wanted to join your coven?" Blaise demanded, furious. "When we talked about it in Flourish and Blotts?"

Hermione's mind was scrambling to catch up, and she daren't admit that she _had_ thought he was joking with his remarks.

"Well, I _wasn't_ ," Blaise said. He glared at her. "Next time you do Ritual Magic, I want in."

Hermione blinked at him slowly.

"Let me get this straight," she said. "You're not mad that Draco nearly drained his magic and is unconscious in the Hospital Wing…"

Blaise snorted. "Why would I care about _that?_ "

"…but you're upset that I did Ritual Magic with him, and not you."

For the first time, Blaise's anger faltered.

"It sounds different, when you put it like that," he said, frustrated. "This isn't about me being jealous. This is about me _telling you_ I wanted in your coven, and you doing Ritual Magic with Draco Malfoy _anyway_ instead of with _me._ When I'm supposed to be one of your best friends!"

"It _is_ about you being jealous," Hermione said, standing up and straightening her robes. "But that's okay."

She took a step towards Blaise, whose eyes widened.

"Hermione, what-?"

"You _are_ one of my best friends," Hermione told him, laying her hand on his chest and looking up at him. She gave him a fond smile, almost affectionate. "You _are_ , Blaise. Draco is not."

Blaise searched her eyes for any trace of falsehood. Hermione kept her expression open, inviting him to read.

"The ritual with Draco was a _favor_ to him," she told Blaise. "His father had forbidden him from talking to me because I'm not viewed as his equal. It wasn't until we did _The Fallen Foe_ that he could, because magic had judged me to be his equal."

Comprehension was filtering into Blaise's eyes, his expression changing, and Hermione continued.

"I didn't want my year to be filled up with more 'downfall to Weasley' nonsense, not after I realized how _that_ ritual was controlling and guiding us," she said. "But if Draco and I broke the seam and dissolved the grudge, he wouldn't be allowed to talk to me again. We had to do another ritual as equals that would linger, so he could talk to me as per usual."

Blaise looked suspicious. "He couldn't just go against what his father said?"

"That's what I said." Hermione sighed. "But his father… Lucius Malfoy believes in cruel methods of rule enforcement. And I couldn't ask Draco to suffer for me."

Blaise looked mad for a moment, then sighed.

"And now?" he asked.

"Now, Draco is in the Hospital Wing for being a fool," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I told him to pull back his magic when he was running low, and that I'd match him. Instead, he was determined to prove himself the stronger of the two of us – with literally everything he could."

"He thought he was _magically stronger_ than you?" Blaise began to laugh, his chuckles rumbling under Hermione's hand on his chest. "He seriously thought he could beat _you?_ "

"I don't know _why_ ," Hermione groused, shifting to take a step back. "I was only about halfway empty when his magic gave out."

Blaise laughed again, before moving and catching Hermione's hand as she pulled it away.

"Hermione."

Hermione stopped, her breath in her throat, as Blaise's molten gaze locked onto hers.

"I want in, the next time you're doing Ritual Magic," he told her, his voice low. He turned her hand over in his, holding it. "Regardless of what you're doing. I want to be part of your standing coven, those who cast Ritual Magic with you."

Hermione watched as he rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand, before her eyes flickered up to him.

"I _did_ have an idea…" she admitted. "It'll take some research and more investigation, but in a month or so, maybe," she offered, "I should have something we can try…?"

It was incredible, Hermione realized, the way his brilliant smile took her breath away – just the way his mother's had that day in Carkitt Market. Her heart skipped a beat. Had Blaise _ever_ smiled at her like this before?

"Then," Blaise murmured, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing them to the back of it, his eyes glittering, "I will be very much looking forward to it, Hermione."


	104. A Visit from the Malfoys

Draco missed classes for the rest of the week. He woke up Wednesday afternoon, but Madam Pomfrey refused to let him out of the Hospital Wing.

"You drained your magic nearly entirely!" she shrieked. "You're not about to go to classes and drain it all _again_ in your condition!"

It made Hermione wonder. Was draining one's magic entirely so rare? After all, she did it purposefully every night. She remembered being exhausted after doing it early on and falling asleep immediately afterward, and she recalled that she _had_ collapsed one time after trying to levitate herself out of the forbidden third-floor corridor. But she'd always seemed fully recovered by the next morning. Why was Draco taking so long to get his magic back?

The rumor mill was furious with whispers of what Draco had done to drain himself so entirely, none of them anywhere close to accurate. The funniest was Draco had exhausted himself trying to curse Lockhart's hair; the strangest was he had poured all his magic into an attempt at becoming an Animagus but instead had nearly turned himself to stone.

The Slytherins listened and snorted at such gossip, but Hermione knew that rumors were flying within the snakes' common room in whispers and glances as well. Many people knew she had left with Draco that evening, and several people knew she was the only one to return.

"Half the house thinks you attacked Draco, trying to steal his magic," Tracey informed her one day. "The other half thinks you and Draco got into a duel and Draco exhausted himself trying to beat you."

Hermione snorted.

"The second's more accurate," she said, folding her arms. "This whole thing wouldn't have happened if Draco hadn't let his stupid ego get ahead of him."

Tracey snickered.

"I figured as much," she said. "Draco's far too cheerful up in the Hospital Wing to have been attacked by you. He'd at least have an ass' ears or something when you got done with him."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

The rumor mill started flying once again on Saturday – someone had allegedly caught a glimpse of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy entering the school, which made Hermione's blood run cold.

"I swear!" Daphne insisted. "I'd recognize their hair anywhere!"

Hermione shifted uneasily. Blaise cast a sideways glance at her.

"Somewhere you need to be, Hermione?" he asked, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Probably."

By the time she made it up to the Hospital Wing, clutching a bag in her hand, she could hear Draco's voice echoing.

"-did _not!_ "

"Draco-"

"Pardon me," Hermione said loudly, entering the Hospital Wing and closing the door behind her. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything," she added, knowing full well she was interrupting something.

The Malfoys' eyes all fell on her, and Hermione took her time looking them over. Draco looked exasperated but incredibly relieved to see her, and it was good to see him sitting up in the bed. Narcissa Malfoy looked like something was paining her, her delicate features scrunched ever so slightly. Her blonde hair matched that of her husband, whose eyes had narrowed on Hermione.

"That door was locked," he said.

"Oh?" Hermione said, shrugging. "Was it? I hadn't noticed."

Lucius' eyes remained sharp on Hermione as she moved to Draco's other side, pulling a seat up to the bed. But what could she do? She _hadn't_ noticed a door locked. Either he'd forgotten to lock the door, or she'd subconsciously cast _Alohomora_ wandlessly and wordlessly to make her way inside.

She suspected he'd just forgotten to lock it.

"Mother, may I present Miss Hermione Granger, first of her House?" Draco said, nodding to his mother. "Hermione, may I present my mother, Narcissa Malfoy?"

"A pleasure to meet you," Hermione said, inclining her head.

Narcissa's lip curled. "Indeed."

Hermione ignored the slight.

"Draco here was just telling us about your little _adventure_ ," Lucius said. "And about how he nearly lost his magic."

Draco groaned. "Father, I did _not_. I just used too much. It was an error in judgement. I'm _fine_."

"That's not what Madame Pomfrey said," Lucius growled.

"If I might?" Hermione interjected.

Lucius' and Narcissa's eyes turned to her, and with a shrug from Draco, she took over.

"Draco exhausted his magical reserves during the ritual," she told them. "It's not unusual to lose consciousness after exhausting your reserves, especially if your adrenaline is high, which it was. This is in strong contrast to burning out his magical _core_ , which Draco never even came close to."

"Burn out his core?" Narcissa repeated, her eyes wide, and Hermione nodded.

"The core of his magic is what replenishes it," Hermione explained, "and it wasn't touched or involved in the ritual at all. Draco will be fine – all he needs is some time to recover all the magic he spent."

Lucius' eyes were sharp, and they flicked from Hermione to Draco.

"Ritual, you say," he murmured, and Draco winced.

"Yes," he said weakly, and Lucius' eyes darted back to hers.

" _You_ are the person with whom Draco performed experimental ritual magic?" His tone indicated he found this highly unlikely, and Hermione straightened and tossed her head back.

"The one whom he _successfully_ performed ritual magic with," she said, haughty. "Go ahead and test him if you like – you'll see the effects of what we did."

Lucius looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes calculating and considering.

"I am no Legilimens," he said, withdrawing his wand and elegantly toying with it in his hand. "But I _do_ at least know the basics."

Draco's eyes widened. "No, dad-"

 _"Legilimens_ ," Lucius hissed.

Immediately, Hermione was back in Draco's head suddenly, feeling like she was trapped in an Arctic cavern, and she could feel her body shiver. She was aware of the feeling of someone banging dully on the wall of ice she had put up in front of Draco's mind. The wall was solid and smooth, though, and the harsh knocking didn't make so much as even make a crack, though it _hurt_ – it was apparent that Lucius was _not_ a skilled Legilimens in any way. It was almost as if she could vaguely make out Lucius, even – a blurry, blond figure on the other side of the ice, banging to get in.

As Lucius withdrew, Hermione felt herself settle back into herself, shaken and her head throbbing. She hadn't realized she and Draco would be aware if the _other_ was being attacked with Legilimency – she'd thought it would just allow her to be aware if it happened to herself.

"Impressive," Lucius murmured, looking her over carefully. "And you say you designed this ritual?"

Hermione put her chin up, steadying her nerves. "I did."

Lucius' lip curled into a smirk.

"How very interesting," he said. "I wonder just what secrets you have to hide."

Hermione's mind flew to Quirrell and his chest of books, and she willed herself not to pale.

"I'm sure we all have secrets we'd like to keep," she said instead, trying to keep her voice calm. "Some of us more than others."

Lucius' eyes flashed, but he didn't seem angry.

"Then, Draco, if you are _truly_ in good health," he said, "we will take our leave."

"I'll be _fine_ ," Draco said, huffing. "You didn't need to come."

"When my only son is hospitalized, I am _going_ to _come_ ," his mother informed him sharply, before her eyes softened. "Goodbye, my love."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Draco flushed in embarrassment. "Mum!"

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said. "Here. This is for you."

Lucius turned, and she held out the bag of leftover ritual components to him.

"There's some powdered silver left, but not much," she told him. "The full ritual instructions and explanation are written down in there, too." She paused. "Though I might ask you to please not share it around."

"...Indeed." Lucius' eyes held hers. "I understand entirely."

Hermione did not know _what_ Lucius thought he understood, and she puzzled over it as Lucius swirled his robes, bid his son goodbye, and turned to go. His eyes paused on her as he lingered in the doorway, giving her an ominous smirk before disappearing once more. Narcissa followed after, sweeping gracefully out the door.

After the door closed behind them, Draco collapsed back onto the bed.

"My Mum is just so _worried,_ " he complained. "She doesn't get that I'm not some idiot kid fooling around anymore."

"You're her only child," Hermione said neutrally. "I imagine part of her job as a mother is to worry if you're okay."

Draco made a face.

"Whatever," he dismissed. He looked sideways at her. "This is new," he said slyly. "You haven't come to visit me at all before now."

"If I'd come before now, I'd have yelled at you," Hermione said dryly. "It took a while to calm down from being angry at you for being an arrogant idiot and risking _both_ of our necks in the ritual, you prat."

To his credit, Draco flushed in embarrassment, ducking his head and looking away. Hermione was glad; he _should_ feel embarrassed over what he'd done.

"So why _did_ you come, anyway?" he muttered.

"Because there were rumors your parents were here," Hermione said promptly. "And with half the house saying I attacked you to try and steal your magic, I wanted to make sure they knew what _actually_ happened so when they left here, I would still be _alive_."

Draco's head popped back up, eyes wide.

"Tried to _steal_ my magic-?" Draco looked horrified.

Hermione nodded. "According to rumor."

"Who is saying this?" he demanded. Draco looked angry. "I'll set them straight."

"Just… people," Hermione said, waving a hand carelessly. "The more vehement pureblood supremacists, mostly. They'd rather believe I tried to steal your magic than that I managed to overpower you."

Draco frowned.

"I- I guess that makes sense, but still," he objected. "That's not even realistic. You can't _steal_ someone's magic, after all."

He continued to grouse about stupid people believing stupid things as he started eating his breakfast of yogurt and fruit, but Hermione tuned him out.

Dementors could steal your soul. Dark rituals could steal a baby right out from your womb. Stealing someone's magic didn't seem too far out of the realm of possibility, if you stopped to think about it.

Hermione shivered.

If someone tried to steal her magic, if that someday _happened…_

How would she even begin to try to defend against _that?_


	105. Potions Papers and Packages

Draco resumed his classes the next Monday, perfectly fine and as snobbish as ever, and the rumor mill finally began to die down. The Slytherins stopped giving her suspicious looks as well after Draco loudly addressed her in front of everyone in the middle of the common room, treating her like an equal to make a statement to them all.

Hermione appreciated the gesture, though she wished it wasn't needed all the same.

Harry, Neville, and Ron meanwhile despaired of Draco's return to classes, which they informed her of in the library that night.

"I mean, if he was going to get sick, couldn't he have gotten _really_ sick?" Ron whined. "Keep him out of our hair for a solid month or two?"

"Or during Quidditch," Harry added. "I don't know how we're going to beat Slytherin on those Nimbus 2001s."

Hermione shrugged. "Try harder? Practice more? Play better? Fly faster?"

"They've just got the faster _brooms_ ," Harry sighed. "We can't make ours go any faster, no matter our skill."

Hermione's eyes sparkled. "You could just lose," she suggested.

" _Never."_ Harry shot her a look, but he was grinning.

"Slimy Slytherin," he teased.

"Goody-goody Gryffindor," Hermione shot back, smirking.

Ron watched on in confusion.

"I thought we weren't allowed to call her that anymore?" he said, frowning.

" _You're_ not allowed to call her that," Neville corrected. "You're not allowed to be rude or mean to her anymore, remember?" He turned to give Hermione a tentative smile. "But from me or Harry, Hermione _knows_ it's teasing. It's almost affectionate."

Ron grumbled something and settled back down, but Hermione's eyes widened.

Had Harry and Neville actually sat Ron down and had a _talk_ with him?

Ron _had_ been more polite to her than usual, and his sniping about Slytherins had dramatically cut down in her presence. Had Harry and Neville actually confronted Ron on her behalf…?

"I don't understand how we're supposed to get two feet on lacewing flies," Neville said, sighing and running a hand through his hair as he stared at his essay. "I'm hopeless at Potions."

"You and me both," Ron grumbled. "They're flies. Their wings are like lace. You chuck them in a cauldron. What else do you need to know?"

"How they're prepared and the subtypes, probably," Hermione said, scanning a book for her own essay. "They can be stewed, they can be shredded and boiled, there are different patterns of lace on their wings…"

"Different lace patterns?" Neville's eyes grew huge. "Oh, no! Does that matter?"

"I have no idea," Hermione admitted. "But it might."

Harry frowned. "I think Hermione's right. Unless Snape wants us to go into the life cycle of a fly like this is Biology class or something, it's probably got to be the preparation methods and types of flies, right? He _did_ say we'd be using delicate lacewing flies on Friday…"

"Oi, what's Biology?" Ron wanted to know.

They finished up their essays, quietly all working together in the back of the library to avoid Madam Pince's unforgiving eye. Hermione glanced up at Ron at one point, who was scribbling furiously, scowling at his scroll. Harry looked up, met her eye, and offered her a smile, one which Hermione returned before they both looked back to their parchments.

 _Had_ Harry and Neville admonished Ron on her behalf…?

The thought warmed her heart.

* * *

"It's here!" Daphne was bouncing where she stood, anxiously playing with her hands. "It's here, it's here, it's here!"

"Yes, it's here, it's here," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and pulling free the letter attached to the large package.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I forwarded Mrs. Dursley's order to her as requested. The rest of it is all here. Vinegar helped dissolve the labels, but again – if you can find a way to magic them off, or a magic device that I could use to get them off, I could get all this to you much quicker._

 _The Gringotts goblins are beginning to recognize me. This is the fourth time I've been in there to change money from gold coins to pounds for you. I think they can tell I'm non-magical, despite the robes. No one else in Diagon Alley seems to notice. The goblins are polite(ish?), at any rate, though I really wish they wouldn't show quite so many pointy teeth when they smile! It makes me want to offer them free cleanings, and I suspect they would probably take offense._

 _Do keep us appraised of what's going on with you at school. Your letters are always a joy to read, and your father and I look forward to each one._

 _Much love,_

 _Mum_

Hermione smiled and tucked the letter away, finally turning to the large box. It'd taken four owls to bring.

"Tracey…" Hermione said, handing Tracey her pack. "Millie… Pansy…"

Tracey and Millie were obviously excited, and even Pansy took her things gracefully, with a simple 'thank you' and a nod of her head.

"These are for Jade… and finally… Daphne."

Hermione pushed the box at Daphne, still a good two-thirds full. Daphne took it and nearly staggered under the weight, but she managed to get it over to her bed. She excitedly began going through it, sorting out her own things from those her mother had ordered, Pansy murmuring and helping.

"Hermione?"

Hermione turned to Millie, who was playing with a concealer in her hand. "Yes?"

"Can we… if there's someone we know really well, is it okay if we tell them what's going on here?" she asked. "I've known Susan Bones since I was five – she's in our year, in Hufflepuff – and she asked how I've been hiding my spots. Hannah and Eloise have been asking too…"

Hermione considered.

"Hufflepuffs are known for their loyalty, yes?" she said aloud.

"Hard work, dedication, patience, loyalty, and fair play," Tracey recited. She caught Pansy's sharp look and flushed. "What?" she said defensively. "I read up on all the housees before I was sorted."

Pansy scoffed but said nothing, turning back to continue sorting with Daphne.

"If they promise not to tell…" Hermione said, trailing off.

"I'm sure they wouldn't!" Millie encouraged Hermione. "They're lovely girls, really."

"…then I guess it'd be alright," Hermione said, with a sigh. "But they have to come here to look at it and order things. I'll not have my sheets going around the school. That's just begging to be caught out."

"Hufflepuffs in the Slytherin common rooms?" Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Really?"

"No worse than a part troll," Tracey said snidely, and Pansy flushed a mottled red.

"Now, now, let's be nice to Pansy," Hermione admonished lightly. "After all, one can't help their heritage or what blood they're born with. And Pansy's certainly proving herself to be a somewhat capable witch."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "I suppose."

Hermione caught Pansy shooting her a look, and Hermione raised an eyebrow lazily, challenging. Pansy continued to look suspicious of her but eventually went back to helping Daphne sort out what all her mother had bought versus what all Daphne had purchased.

Hermione smiled to herself, watching.

Pansy hadn't objected that she wasn't part troll. Hermione wondered if Pansy actually believed it. It didn't hurt anyone or anything, if she did, after all.

And it might help her get over this ridiculous blood prejudice thing sooner, too.


	106. Turning Thirteen

Saturdays were generally a lovely, lazy day in Hogwarts. Hermione enjoyed the relaxed pace and longer meal hours. She usually took breakfast then went to the library until noon, before going outside or to her common room to study and work until dinner. This Saturday was going much the same, with Hermione munching on toast as she scanned the _Daily Prophet_ headlines, when Luna came up to Hermione, looking grave.

"Hermione," she said, her voice serious. "There's something you'd better see."

Hermione felt her adrenaline spike with alarm.

"What is it?" she asked, grabbing an apple to take with her. "What's going on?"

"It's the Houses," Luna said, hurrying and leading the way down a hall. "There were a bunch of Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but then Gryffindors started coming, and now it's all just a big mess."

"Wait, what? Where?" Hermione asked. "Is everyone okay?"

"We'll have to find out," Luna said grimly.

Subtly, Hermione palmed her wand.

Luna stopped by a door, and Hermione could hear yelling and a ruckus from outside.

"I'll go in first," Hermione told Luna in a low voice. "You cover me. Or stay here and guard the door."

Luna nodded silently from next to her. Hermione took a deep breath, mentally counted to three, and burst inside.

Immediately, loud yelling and sound assaulted her, and Hermione stopped and stared.

"-an idiot! She is _not_ going to like having green and silver banners everywhere-" Harry was yelling.

" _You're_ the moron! Green is her favorite color, you stupid slimy-" That sounded like Draco.

" _Where_ is the cake? She'll be here any minute!" Was that Tracey?

"What are _Weasleys_ doing here? I didn't realize we needed servants-" Theo was here too, now?

Hermione stared at them all, her friends and classmates running around an empty classroom attempting to decorate it with streamers. She turned sharply to Luna, who gave her an ambiguous smile.

"Told you it was something you'd want to see," she said, eyes sparkling.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but a small smile eked through.

She waved her wand, and with a loud _BANG_ and explosion of sparks, everyone froze and fell silent, their eyes flying to Hermione.

"Hi," Hermione said, taking a step forward. "Someone mind telling me what all this is about?"

Her smile was dangerous. The others exchanged glances, some of them flinching backwards.

"It's your birthday, isn't it?" Hermione's eyes flickered up to Blaise, who was sitting on a desk in the back of the room, lazily. His eyes glinted with challenge. "And you said we couldn't throw you a party in _the common room_ , so…"

Hermione realized she'd been trapped.

"So you threw one here, in an abandoned classroom instead," she summarized. She glanced around. "And invited everyone?"

"Zabini invited me," Harry said, stepping forward. He shot a suspicious look at Draco. "He said it was for your _friends_ , so of course me and Neville and Ron had to come-"

"You brought nearly all the Weasleys," Pansy complained, emerging from behind a large ribbon bow. "Why are the twins and the Weaselette here?"

Hermione thought it was ironic that _Pansy_ of all people criticizing why someone was present. If anyone wasn't her _friend_ , it was Pansy.

"I brought Ginny," Luna said. "I like her. She's nice."

Hermione looked over to the twins. Fred and George were grinning.

"When we heard about your party-" Fred began.

"-from our loudmouth brother, wondering what to get you as a gift-" George added.

"-we decided it would be an excellent opportunity to show you what all we could do and our creativity-"

"-and hopefully help lure you over to the side of mischief!"

Their eyes sparkled, and Hermione smiled despite herself.

"Okay," she said. "So… who's throwing this party? What do you want me to do?"

Tracey froze.

"Err…" she said. "I think that'd be me. But everything's not even ready – we haven't gotten the streamers up yet-"

"That's because Malfoy thinks your favorite colors are Slytherin house colors," Neville said.

"Which they are!" Draco objected. "She wears green and silver all the time!"

"It's violet, actually," Hermione commented. She flicked her wand, and the banners turned from green and silver into a deep purple. "There. What else?"

"Umm… the House Elves are supposed to have a cake ready for you…"

"It's just after breakfast," Millie pointed out. "No one will want cake for a while, anyway."

"And after that, it's just…" Tracey looked uncertain.

"What?" Hermione prompted.

Tracey flushed.

"Well," she said, ears red. "We were all supposed to yell 'surprise'."

* * *

Hermione's birthday party was one of the weirdest things she'd ever experienced.

First, all her friends were there, and even some of her acquaintances. This meant not only her Slytherin classmates were all present, but so were Harry, Ron, and Neville, as well as the twins and Ginny. Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot had shown up too, as had Michael Corner and Mandy. Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchney were present as well, though Hermione had no idea why _they_ had come. Ernie was spending most of his time talking to the little Colin photographer kid who had tagged along with Harry, so at least they were out of the way.

Despite all being there for a common purpose, everyone kept _fighting_. First, it was accusations of cheating during Pin the Tail on the Centaur. Then, it was _more_ accusations of cheating during Two Truths and a Lie. The first was fair – Hermione was fairly sure Theo _had_ been peeking under the blindfold – but Draco's accusation that the Weasley Twins had spiked his drink with Veritaserum was a bit much.

When Tracey announced the next game as a tribute to her Muggle heritage, bringing out an empty bottle to spin, Hermione quickly put a stop to things.

"Let's all take a break and have some cake, yes?" she said.

"Yes, let's," Blaise said, collapsing on the ground next to her. "We can do presents, too."

"Ooh, yes!" Tracey clapped her hands. "I can't believe I forgot about the gifts!"

Everyone settled into an uneasy circle on the ground, Gryffindors on one side of the room, Slytherins on the other, and Ravenclaws between them. Harry sat on Hermione's right, while Blaise sat on her left, smirking.

"This is some party," Blaise commented, glancing around with a grin. "I've never seen the houses behave so well around each other."

"They've all been arguing constantly since before I got here!" Hermione protested.

Blaise's eyes glinted. "Still. No one's died yet."

The cake turned out to be an enormous chocolate monstrosity, and to Hermione's guilty pleasure, it was _really_ good. She shuddered to think what her parents would think, her devouring so much refined sugar in so short a time, but it was too good to not eat up.

As Tracey passed out pieces of cake, her classmates started offering her gifts, and as wizarding tradition dictated, Hermione had to open them in front of everybody so everyone could see what she had been offered.

Most of them were just _nice_ things, which suited Hermione fine. Theo had gotten her a book on Australian potion-making, which was interesting and fun. Millie had given her a luxury eagle-feather quill, and Tracey had gifted her a black velvet skirt she'd made from old robes of her mother's that had been torn. Daphne and Pansy each gave her new inks, Harry and Neville both gave her sugar quills (while Ron gave her a single chocolate frog), and most of her Ravenclaw friends gave her books.

As the gift giving continued, however, Hermione became aware of a growing tension in the room. She glanced around, puzzled. Draco and Anthony were giving each other dark looks, with Blaise looking annoyed at them both. Neither had yet given her a gift – were both of them trying to wait the other one out so theirs would be last?

The Weasley twins were looking highly amused by the whole thing, and Colin kept taking pictures with his stupid camera.

"Is that all?" Luna asked in her lilting, musical voice. "Oh, okay. Well, then, I'll-"

"It's not," Draco cut in quickly. "I still- I still have mine to give."

Draco moved forward to push a smallish box in front of her, which Hermione examined curiously. She shook it lightly, hearing something rattle about inside, before she opened it.

Inside lay what looked like an elaborate glass and silver top, a mirror, and a strange chain with a pendant that looked like a spoon. Hermione carefully picked up the top, looking it over in her hands.

"This is beautiful," she said finally. "Thank you, Draco."

Draco relaxed somewhat, pride making him straighten his back.

"They're Dark Detectors," he told her. "That's a Sneakoscope – a high quality one. That's a Foe Glass, and the other is a Secrecy Sensor."

"In Slytherin?" Blaise snorted. "It'll never stop pinging for her."

Draco flushed.

"It's still good to have," he snapped. "These will help keep Hermione _safe_."

There was a murmur at that. Offering gifts that provided safety had very specific implications in pureblood culture, and Hermione was aware of these.

"This is very thoughtful, Draco," Hermione said, carefully putting it all back into the box and handing it to Luna, who had somehow become the Gift Logistics go-to. She gave Draco a small smile. "Thank you."

Draco grinned back, then shot a nasty smirk over at Anthony, who was standing and dusting himself off.

"I still have a gift for you as well," he said. He withdrew a large box and handed it to her with a flourish, but he didn't move to sit back down.

"Careful." Luna's warning was a breath against her ear. "Careful, here…"

Delicately easing her fingers into the seams, Hermione opened the box and gasped.

A set of beautiful, opalescent robes were inside, their color shimmering and shifting with the light. Hermione pulled them out, and there was a murmur from the others in the room. Anthony looked smug at her reaction, shooting Draco a triumphant look, who sat and glowered.

"Anthony, this is beautiful," she said, her voice still stunned. "You shouldn't have. Thank you."

Clothing was a pre-courting gift, she knew. It was _okay_ to give to someone, but it indicated a certain intent. And him giving her these gorgeous robes in front of everyone else was certainly making a statement.

"There's more," Anthony said. "Look."

Peering down, Hermione rummaged in the box, pulling out the one thing that remained. As she did, there was a gasp and a hush.

"What's going on?" Ron wanted to know, and Hermione saw Neville elbow him sharply.

"That's a _ring_ ," he hissed. "That's _jewelry_ , Ron. Surely you know what that means?"

From Ron's face, it was apparent that no, he did not. Harry looked puzzled as well.

"It's called a Mood Ring," Anthony said. "My mother got it from a Muggle store. It's supposed to be able to tell your mood depending on the color the stone turns."

"How very lovely," Hermione managed. Her mouth was dry. "I didn't know your mother frequented Muggle shops."

"My family's progressive like that." Anthony winked. "Not like some others."

Hermione sat stock-still, looking at the ring in her hand. Jewelry of any kind was a _courting gift_ – not just a declaration of desire, but a formal statement of intent. She'd read about courtship in the wizarding world beginning young, but Hermione's mind roiled against the notion. She had just turned _thirteen_!

"And," Anthony added, his voice smug, "my mother bought it in the _toy_ section."

There was a murmur, and immediately Hermione knew what Anthony was about. By claiming it was a _toy_ , and _not_ a formal statement, despite giving it to her in front of everyone…

"You can't do that!" Draco objected hotly, and Hermione's eyes darted to him. Draco looked furious. "That's a ring, no matter which way you try to sell it!"

"It's a Muggle toy," Anthony argued. "It's to see what mood you're in."

"Oh, so you wouldn't care if Hermione passed it around to see everyone's mood with?" Draco challenged.

Anthony hesitated for only a second. "Of course not. It's Hermione's, to do with what she wishes."

Draco and Anthony were glaring daggers at each other, while the Slytherin girls were staring at her, eyes wide, waiting to see what she would do. Outright rejecting the gift would be rude. It would also reject Anthony's attentions and undeclared-but-declared statement of intent, and Hermione wasn't entirely sure she _wanted_ to do that – he was smart, he was attractive, and she might _like_ him, once she matured enough to like people in that way. However, Hermione knew she didn't want to _accept_ the ring either, and, as such, accept his overture of courtship. She was too _young_ for this sort of thing! She restrained herself from biting her lip, thinking desperately.

"You say it can detect your mood?" Hermione inquired lightly.

Anthony turned back to her, his lips quirking.

"Yeah," he said. "No idea how. Muggle magic?"

Hermione examined the ring again, toying with it in her fingers, never slipping it on.

"How interesting," she commented. With a murmured word and a quick twist, the stone popped free of the steel ring it was glued on to. She held it up, discarding the metal band, and held the stone in her palm. The girls around her exchanged glances and murmurs.

"It's turning blue," she commented. Her eyes met Anthony's. "What mood does that mean?"

"Relaxed or calm," Luna answered from behind her. She held up a piece of paper. "There was a chart in the box."

"That's fairly accurate," Hermione said, smiling. "After all, I'm having such a lovely party with all of my friends."

She turned, passing the stone to Harry.

"What color does it turn for you?" she inquired.

Harry blinked, then looked down at the stone in his hand.

"Uh, black," he said. "What's that mean?"

"Stressed," Luna answered promptly.

"I want to see!" Ron said. "Pass the paper this way, Lovegood!"

Slowly, it became a game, passing the muggle stone around and checking the person's mood against the color it turned.

"Neville! It says you feel passion!" Ron whooped. "Are you in love with someone in this room?"

Neville flushed a deep red and glared at Ron.

"It's a stupid Muggle game, Ron," he snapped. "Who knows why it says what it does?"

"It did say I was angry," Ginny offered quietly. "And I'm not. I don't think it's right all the time."

Ron ignored her.

"Here, you try it, George."

As the stone was passed around, Anthony's eyes met Hermione's once more.

"Thank you very much for the robes," she thanked him quietly. "They're beautiful."

"Their beauty will pale next to you in them," Anthony replied. His grin was charming, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush. "And your other gift…?"

Hermione steadied her breath.

"It was a lovely idea, to bring a Muggle toy to my party for us all to play with," she said, her word choice deliberate. "The stone is very pretty."

In front of her, she could see Anthony deflate slightly with a sigh. It was not an outright rejection, but it was not accepting his declaration, either. She'd called it a toy, clearly using the out he'd given her, and had not once referred to it as a ring.

Still, though, she was keeping it. Which meant _something_ , probably.

"I am glad you like it," Anthony said finally. He offered her a small smile, a peace offering. "Perhaps one day you might use the stone in a clasp for your cloak."

Hermione inclined her head with a smile. "Perhaps I might."

Finally, Anthony returned to his seat, and Hermione exhaled, relaxing and allowing her muscles to untense. Draco still looked mutinous, but he'd settled down to just muttering to himself and shooting dark looks across the way at Anthony.

"You handled that well," Luna murmured from her side. "There was a chance of bloodshed."

Hermione found herself wishing Luna had told her that _before_ she'd guessed at what to do.

"Just ours left, then!" Fred piped up cheerily.

"Though, you won't see it until lunch time," George added.

"Which, if my clock is correct," Fred said, tapping his watch.

"Is in just under half an hour," George finished. He winked at her. "We hope you enjoy it!"

That pronouncement prompted a flurry of discussion of what the Weasley twins had done as a gift to her. It was undoubtedly some sort of prank – but opinion on whether it was on her or on one of her enemies remained divided.

Hermione wondered who they were classifying as her enemies. She didn't know who all resented her herself, nor how many enemies she actually had.

Draco was watching her, as was Blaise, as she put the resplendent robes away and tucked the box behind her out of sight.

Around her, Tracey clapped her hands. "It's time for the big finale!"

A large, oddly-shaped ball was brought in. It looked like it was made from newspaper and cardboard taped together, and it was decorated with streamers.

"Muggles have a tradition of beating small paper horses with wooden clubs until sweets spray out," Tracey informed them. "For a wizarding version of this game, I'm going to toss this in the air, and we're all going to take turns zapping it until it explodes."

Harry was laughing from next to Hermione.

"A piñata?" he asked. "Where did she hear about piñatas from?"

Hermione's eyes danced with amusement as she shrugged.

"Her dad's a muggle," she said. "He probably told her. Though it seems like something got lost in translation…"

Tracey threw the giant ball up into the air, and immediately it was being blasted up towards the ceiling, shouts and jets of light chasing after it, trying to strike a blow. Hermione watched her friends running around below it as they tried to zap it, laughing. They all just looked so _intent_ on it, so intent on defeating a _piñata_ , and they all just looked so _silly_ , and Hermione couldn't help but laugh and laugh and laugh.

When Terry Boot finally hit it with a well-placed severing spell, the piñata ball tore in mid-air, spilling out Bertie Botts Every-Flavor Beans everywhere. Girls shrieked and ducked for cover, while many of the boys dove and tried to gather up as many of them as they could.

Shortly thereafter, it was declared it was time for lunch, and they all filed out after putting the classroom to rights once more, good-natured bickering about who got what hit on the piñata filling the air.

"That was fun," Hermione told Tracey at the Slytherin table, and Tracey beamed. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, Hermione!" Tracey exclaimed, smiling openly. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Be careful of your food," Millie advised. "We still don't know what prank the twins are up to, yet."

After lunch began and everyone was present, including the teachers, the twins' prank became evident midway through the meal.

"Gilderoy…?"

Hermione glanced up at Professor McGongall's aghast tones.

"Yes, Minerva?" Lockhart said, beaming.

"You've got-" She swallowed. "You've got a candle burning on your head."

"I- wait, _what?_ "

Hermione giggled. Sure enough, there was a candle, maybe a foot tall, standing up on Lockhart's head.

"I can't feel it!" Lockhart yelped, waving his arms around over his head. "Get it off! Please!"

Obliging, Hagrid rose to his feet and pulled at the candle.

"'won't come off yeh," Hagrid grunted. "'s gotta be some kinda magic candle."

"Oh, really?" Lockhart's voice was high and frantic. "I couldn't tell."

"Now, now." Hermione's eyes darted over to Snape, where he held a cool look of disdain. "If it's a candle, what all are candles used for?" he drawled. "Clearly this is some sort of prank – just figure out the trigger, and it'll disappear, I'm sure."

"Like what, Severus?" Lockhart was panicking.

"You could have someone blow them out?" Professor Sprout suggested.

"Then please!"

Hagrid took a deep breath and blew, and abruptly, one candle became two, the other popping into existence next to the first.

"Aah! They've _multiplyin'!_ "

"They're _what?_ "

Hermione giggled as Hagrid blew again and again, more candles crowding around her professor's head until there were thirteen perched precariously atop it.

"Clearly, blowing them out isn't working," Snape drawled, his lip curled in amusement. "Perhaps we should sing to you?"

"But it's not my birthday!" Lockhart objected.

"The candles don't seem to know that, Gilderoy," Flitwick reasoned. "No harm if it doesn't work. But it's worth a try."

Hermione couldn't stop laughing as Flitwick lead the staff and much of the student body in a rendition of Happy Birthday. It was like the whole school was singing to her, only _not,_ as she wasn't the one being embarrassed by it all. As the song came to a close, the candles all abruptly exploded into pixies, and there were shrieks of laughter and panic as Lockhart screamed and ran from the room, the pixies chasing after him.

Laughing, Hermione glanced over at the Gryffindor table, which was in an uproar of laughter. The twins caught her eye and she grinned at them. Fred grinned back at her and gave her a thumbs-up, while George winked and laughed.

It was certainly the weirdest and also one of the most surreal, but it was one of the best birthdays Hermione had ever had.


	107. Blaise's Gift

September passed, classes falling into a routine. Homework began piling up from teachers, and Hermione was diligent in making sure she got all of it done as soon as it was assigned. Essays were often done in the library with her Gryffindor friends, spell review and practice with her Ravenclaw friends where Luna often joined in, and studying ahead with Tracey, Millicent, and Blaise while hidden in old classrooms in the dungeons.

"It's more fun if it's in secret," Blaise told them all, eyes gleaming. "Even if there's no _need_ for it to be a secret, it's more fun if it _is._ "

Tracey and Millie were in favor of it, so Hermione was fine with having a Secret Slytherin Study Club. As long as studying actually got _done_ , she didn't much care how or why.

Lockhart continued to be inadequate, and Hermione continued to read other books in his class. She practiced a few of the defensive spells she found on her own, but defense was a subject that was best taught with supervision; if a charm was cast wrong, the charm failed, but if a defensive spell was cast wrong, someone could seriously get hurt. More often, Hermione read up on Legilimency and Occlumency, as well as what more she could make out from _The_ _Songe of the Beastes_.

The book, which she had originally thought to be a grimoire of old spells, seemed more like a fictional tale than an informative book. In it, the wizard told of his journey through the natural world, going to each animal and learning their language, understanding their way of the world, and gaining wisdom before he moved on to the next. It seemed very symbolic, to Hermione – very _The Little Prince_ , she thought. It was enjoyable, though, and Hermione was enjoying the challenge of making her way through the Middle English to finish the story.

In the beginning of October, Blaise approached Hermione one morning, pulling her aside in a drafty corridor.

"For your birthday, I did not give you a gift," he told her. "I _did_ get one for you. It just hadn't arrived yet."

"Oh, Blaise, that's fine," Hermione said. "It really doesn't matter."

"It really does," Blaise said. "But it's fine; it arrived today."

He handed her a small box wrapped in silver paper, which Hermione took in her hand and turned over a few times. She shook it, hearing nothing, and she glanced up at Blaise, who wore a small smile.

"Go on, open it," he encouraged.

Hermione eased a finger under the paper to tear through the tape, unfolding the gift from the paper rather than tearing it. She folded the paper and set it aside to examine her gift: a small pentagonal box, the wood dark and smooth. A star was etched deeply into the surface of the lid.

"Open it," Blaise urged. There was a note in his voice, now – something tense. "Open it."

Curious, Hermione lifted the lid.

At first, she didn't know what she was looking at – was there nothing in this, save a black velvet cushion inside? But her questing fingers soon found several divots in the inner cushion, and she reached in and pulled an object free.

"A ring?" she asked, her eyes darting to his sharply. "You got me a _ring?_ "

Blaise held his hands up. "It's not like that," he protested. "Promise. Look deeper."

Frowning, Hermione examined the box more. She pulled another couple rings free from the black cushion before giving up, tugging out the cushion entirely and pulling the last two from inside. She cradled them in her hand, holding one up to examine.

The ring itself was thick and silver. There was knotwork on the side, vaguely reminiscent of Celtic knots. On the top of the ring was a round face that held a silver pentacle, the background a black enamel. Hermione's eyes darted to Blaise as she realized.

"Are these…?" Her throat was dry. "Did you really…"

Blaise nodded. "They've coven rings," he told her quietly. "One for each member you choose."

Hermione stared.

Coven rings were very, very rare. They were a powerful magical artifact, when used correctly. They allowed the members of each other to share magic when necessary, as well as detect when someone else wearing a ring was in danger or hurt.

They required a coven to use, of course, and a blood sacrifice as well. They weren't Dark, but Hermione suspected the blood sacrifice required to activate such rings had played a large role in the Ministry of Magic banning the sale of all such rings nearly a century ago.

Hermione carefully reassembled the box.

"I'm sorry I was so- I just- I didn't expect _this_ ," she admitted, slotting each ring back into its place. " _Coven_ rings… I didn't think anyone _made_ these anymore."

"I had to get them from Italy," Blaise told her, giving her a small smirk. "But they're worth it though, right? Even though they're late?"

"Are you _kidding?_ " Hermione said. "Of _course_ they're worth it. This is excellent!"

Blaise grinned.

"Now you just have to decide who all you want to be in your coven," he told her.

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Me, that's one," she said. "You, so that's two."

"Good start," Blaise smirked. "So. Who else?"

"Luna," Hermione said. "Though… I don't think her magic is mature enough just yet?"

Blaise frowned.

"Mature enough?" he questioned. "We all did that Slytherin ritual early first year."

"The magic to unite a coven is more draining and difficult than that," Hermione told him. "There are stories… Luna should be ready by the end of the year, though, I think. She mentioned foreseeing something." Hermione peered at Blaise, frowning slightly. "…come to think of it, I might need to ask her if your magic has reached its critical point as well."

"We don't have to wait for full magical maturity, do we?" Blaise groaned. "I don't want to wait until I'm _seventeen_ …"

"No," Hermione assured him. "It's something else. Luna can see it in auras."

Blaise shrugged and sighed.

"If you say so," he said. "Who else?"

"Harry," Hermione said, thinking. "And his magic's already mature."

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Potter?" he questioned. "Really? You think he'll be okay with forbidden ritual magic?"

"Whoever said anything about doing _forbidden_ magic?" Hermione shot back, and Blaise smirked.

"Fair enough," he said. "But would he be in?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But we could ask him."


	108. Coven Recruitment and Terrible News

They found Harry in the Gryffindor common room. Blaise had been amused to see Hermione approach the portrait of the Fat Lady, ask if Harry was inside, and then give the password of 'wattlebird' without so much as fluttering an eyelash.

"You just go into everyone's common rooms, don't you?" Blaise said, admiring. "I know you've been up in Ravenclaw."

"Haven't found Hufflepuff yet," Hermione told him. "Haven't had a reason to try."

Harry was looking over a sketch of some sort of animated Quidditch maneuver when Hermione and Blaise approached him, and his eyes grew wide.

"Hermione?" he said, surprised. "Zabini?"

"Harry," Hermione said, giving him a smile. "Can we talk to you for a moment? Outside?"

Harry glanced around, realizing that they were gathering several suspicious stares. Hermione imagined it pleased the Gryffindors none too much to realize that a Slytherin had been able to give the Fat Lady their password, though the Weasley Twins looked amused.

"Right," he said, shoving the book aside. "Sure. Where to?"

Hermione led them to a vacant corridor on the fifth floor, one that had some forgotten furniture in it.

"Do you know what a coven is, Harry?" she began, and Harry blinked, then wrenched his face up, thinking.

"Is that what Muggles call a group of witches?" he guessed. "That's all that 'bubble, bubble, toil and trouble', isn't it?"

"All the _what?_ " Blaise said, puzzled.

"That's correct," Hermione said, ignoring Blaise – now was _not_ the time to go over _Macbeth_. "However, it's also a real thing in the wizarding world. A coven is a group of witches and wizards who cast ritual magic together."

"Ritual magic?" Harry asked. "Not potions and chanting spells?"

"Rituals," Hermione said with a smile. "No weird sisters here."

"The Weird Sisters?" Blaise was openly confused now. "They're a rock group, not a coven."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him.

"I want to form one," she told him. "Blaise is in it. I want you to be in it, too."

"And this is… to cast magic?" Harry asked. He frowned. "Why isn't this covered in classes?"

"Ritual magic is a forgotten art, Potter," Blaise told him. "After we developed wands, we didn't need rituals to control our magic anymore."

"Then why…?"

"Because there's not a spell for everything," Hermione told him. "But rituals work with your magic and will. In theory, you should be able to design a ritual to do _anything_."

Harry's eyes widened. " _Anything…?_ "

"Well, within reason," Hermione amended. "Probably not manipulate time or history, for example, or cause mass destruction-"

"You could if your coven was big enough," Blaise muttered.

"-but with most things, sure," she said. She smiled. "It'll be a way to explore what all magic has to offer us, and we can do it together."

Harry looked uneasy.

"Why are you asking me?" he asked. "Why aren't Neville and Ron here too?"

Blaise snorted, muttering something unflattering about Weasley under his breath, and Hermione paused, thinking how best to phrase her thoughts.

"Ron and I frequently don't get along, and he has problems with Slytherins," she told Harry. "He wouldn't want to join a group run by me."

"That's fair," Harry admitted. "But what about Neville?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Ritual magic is old," Hermione told him. "It's handed down through families, and not many people do it much anymore."

"So?"

"It's largely considered Dark magic by the Ministry," Blaise said, stepping in. His eyes held Potter's. "Even though it's not."

" _Dark_ magic?" Harry recoiled. "I'm not doing _Dark_ magic."

"I didn't _ask_ you to," Hermione said, annoyed. "I asked you to join my coven."

"Yeah, but if you have a coven to cast-"

"They classify it as Dark because you can do _anything_ with it," Hermione snapped. "It's easy to classify specific spells as 'Dark' because a spell only does one specific thing. But with ritual magic, you could get the same ending effect a dozen different ways, so it's easier to just call the whole thing 'Dark' and let it fade away."

Harry looked at her, his green eyes sharp.

"And it's not?" he asked her. "Not Dark?"

"Ritual magic is not innately Dark," Hermione said patiently, "just as using a wand isn't either. I will admit that some rituals are Dark, but so are some _spells_ , Harry. We just won't _do_ ones that are Dark."

Harry looked unsure.

"Many of the rituals call for you to spill your blood," Hermione told him honestly, "which is a large reason the Ministry is unfriendly to ritual magic – blood magic tends to have negative connotations. But Harry – blood magic is what your mother used to _save_ your _life_. It's what keeps you safe at the Dursleys'. I was able to use a blood magic ritual to protect my parents this summer, so they'll be safe even when I'm not there."

Harry looked surprised at this.

"With your parents?" he repeated. "Really?"

Hermione nodded. "They put their blood in and everything. The house is safer for it, now."

Blaise's eyes gleamed behind her, but he remained silent. Harry looked thoughtful.

"So you think Neville would reject this outright because the Ministry says ritual magic can be Dark," Harry summed up. "But you think I won't?"

"I _know_ you won't, Harry," Hermione told him. "You're too smart to believe the 'only good' or 'only bad' false dichotomy. You come from the Muggle world, like me – you know that magic is just a tool, and like any tool, what it does depends on how it is used."

"And if nothing else, ritual magic is what saved your life," Blaise added. "You'd want to learn more about that, wouldn't you?"

Hermione held her breath as Harry considered. Harry was a good friend, loyal, and a good wizard, and she _wanted_ him to join her. Not to mention that getting Harry to join her coven would tie him to her tighter as a friend, regardless of Dumbledore's desires for the _special_ Harry Potter and his Slytherin acquaintance...

"…okay," he said finally. "I'm curious. And I'm interested. Count me in." His eyes gleamed. "Think we could do a ritual to make me faster on a broom?"

Blaise laughed.

"You're doomed, Potter," he told him. "You can't outrace a Nimbus 2001 on a Nimbus 2000."

Harry stuck his tongue out at Blaise, while Hermione laughed.

"It's possible that we could make a ritual to make your reflexes faster," Hermione told him, "but that seems an awful lot like _cheating_ to me."

Harry sighed a long, over-dramatic sigh.

"What is the point of joining a dodgy ritual group," he wanted to know, "if you can't even use it to help you catch the snitch?"

Hermione giggled while Blaise snickered, and Harry grinned back at both of them.

* * *

"So I'm good?" Blaise asked again. "I don't want to burn out my magical core on this."

Hermione and Harry lingered nearby outside in the courtyard. Hermione wanted to hear Luna's answer, as she considered Blaise's aura carefully. Finally, Luna nodded, looking him up and down again.

"Your aura is spinning as it grows," she confirmed. "You've reached the maturation point necessary for your core to generate lots more magic. You'll be fine."

"And I already hit it?" Harry wanted to know.

"You did," Luna nodded. "So you two are fine. But the rest of us aren't. So we'll have to wait until closer to the end of the year to formally bind together."

"That's fine," Hermione said, dismissive. "We'll wait for you, Luna. There's plenty of other things we can begin exploring in the meantime. Plus, there's one more member to recruit still."

"Any ideas?" Blaise asked.

"A couple," Hermione admitted. "But with the person I want to ask, I'll have to time it just right…"

Luna's eyes gleamed.

"Wait for _us_ , Hermione," she chided, her voice teasing. " _Your_ magic isn't ready either."

Hermione's mind screeched to a halt.

"… _What?"_

Luna blinked up at her innocently.

"It's perfectly normal, Hermione," Luna told her. "It's a point of maturity that every witch or wizard reaches at a different time-"

"But I _did_ ," Hermione objected strongly. "I _did_. Last spring!"

"I thought this magic point was mysterious and unknown," Harry muttered to Blaise, who shrugged and watched on.

Luna tilted her head at Hermione.

"Did you really?" she asked, her voice musical. "Or did you only _think_ that you did?"

"I _did!_ " Hermione stomped her foot. "I _did_ , I made sure of it! And it _hurt_ , and I got the result I wanted, and my magic started growing afterward!"

"You 'made sure of it'?" Luna questioned.

" _Yes_ ," Hermione said, nodding. "That's what I'm saying. So there's no way that-"

"Was your body _ready_ for it?" Luna cut her off.

Hermione paused.

"…define 'ready'."

Luna looked amused. "I think you know what I mean."

Hermione faltered.

"Okay, so _no_ , it wasn't, but that was the whole _point,_ was to _make_ my body ready at the optimal time-"

"And has your body 'been ready' since then?" Luna challenged.

"Well, _no-"_

"Then how," Luna said, "can you possibly think you're ready?"

Hermione stopped.

Luna's points were valid.

It made _sense_ , once she thought about it — of course her body was tied to her magic, and if it needed her to be having her cycle to exponentially grow her magic capacity, then _of course_ her plan wouldn't have worked — not unless she did the terrible ovulation ritual _every single month_ since then. Which she _hadn't_ – she'd nearly regretted doing it _once._

But if she hadn't managed to make her magic capacity begin growing exponentially…

"But I _did_ it," Hermione said weakly. She leaned back against the castle wall, sliding to the ground. "I _did_ it. It _worked_."

"You tried to cheat nature, Hermione," Luna said. She bent down to look at Hermione, her watery blue eyes kind. "You can't cheat that."

Hermione fell silent, dwelling on what this truly meant.

If her magic wasn't growing exponentially, now... if all this time, she'd still been growing _linearly_...

All that potential, then, just _gone_...

Quietly, Hermione began to cry.

Luna gave her a sad smile, before gathering her in her arms and giving her a hug, silent tears spilling down Hermione's cheeks.

Harry looked from Hermione and Luna to Blaise and back again, his eyes wide and panicked. Blaise gave him a nod, and the two boys silently slid away, leaving Hermione crying quietly in Luna's comforting embrace.

"It'll be okay," Luna murmured.

Hermione sniffled for a while longer, Luna offering hugs and comfort by her side. Hermione's tears eventually began to dry up, and she wiped the tear tracks off her face.

"I just... I wanted to be _the best._ " Hermione rubbed at her eyes. She hiccuped. "And now... all that power... all that _potential..._ "

"Hermione," Luna said, her tone gently chiding. She tilted Hermione jaw up slightly forcing her to meet her eyes and gave her a smile. "Do you _really_ think this means you can't still be the best?"

Hermione sniffed. "...no."

"Then go _be_ the best," Luna said, as if it was as simple as that.

Hermione considered for a long moment, before standing. She offered Luna a hand to help pull her up.

"All right," she said, sighing. "I will."

Luna clapped. "Good!" She beamed. "Now you can put this whole failed ritual business behind you and move forward-"

"Ah... I can't. Not quite yet," Hermione admitted.

Luna tilted her head. "But you'll need to let go if you want-"

"I _will_ , but not just yet."

"Why not?" Luna wanted to know.

Hermione winced.

"I need to figure out just what I've done to myself first."


	109. The Damage

Hermione prided herself on her realistic attitude toward life, even if it was very cynical sometimes. If there was a truth, she wanted to know it, and she refused to hide her head in the sand – it was _always_ better to know.

When she had been a child and sick with the chicken pox, she wanted to know if she was dying. Her mother had been horrified by her asking, but Hermione had determined she wanted to know if she was, she could start drawing out her will. Her handwriting and spelling wasn't so good yet, so she'd have had to draw all her toys, and she had wanted get a head start on it so she could get it all done before she was dead. Of course, she _wasn't_ dying, but Hermione even at age five had had a plan just in case.

When Hermione had been playing with a friend one time in primary school, she had gotten a funny look from a classmate, and she had demanded to know what was going on. The boy had told her she wouldn't like it, but Hermione had bossily insisted that she'd be the judge of that. The boy had shrugged and told her that her new friend wasn't really a friend at all; he'd overheard her talking to other students about getting close to Hermione so she'd let her copy her homework. Hermione had been struck, and though her anger as she viciously ended the 'friendship' was covering up deep hurt, she was still glad she'd asked and known. She preferred the pain of the truth to the continued fake friendship, no matter how nice it had felt while it lasted.

When Hermione had learned of the pureblood supremacy and blood purist prejudice ingrained in wizarding society, she had acknowledged it, faced it, and made her plans accordingly, taking such prejudice into account when she announced herself as New Blood. She had set out to prove herself immediately, instead of naively hoping to change people's minds through example. It was a harder path, perhaps, facing Slytherin head-on, but she knew she was having more of an effect from within than she would ever have been able to from the outside, as she might have done if she didn't own up to the unpleasantness of this new world.

Now, Hermione faced a very unfortunate truth: she'd done a ritual – a definitively _dodgy_ magic ritual – and she'd somehow messed her magic up.

Because _something_ had changed in her magic. Hermione could _feel_ it, had _felt_ it.

But if Hermione hadn't managed to jumpstart her magic capacity into growing exponentially…

Then what _had_ she done?

It was another unfortunate truth that Hermione had to admit to herself that she knew she had no idea, and it stung and scared her to acknowledge that she would have to ask for help.

Hermione glanced up again at Snape's office door, looked longingly back down the corridor toward the common room, before turning back toward the door with a sigh.

She knocked.

"Enter."

Hermione did.

Snape was reading an essay, a nearby jar of red ink open as he hovered with his quill. His office looked much the same as Hermione remembered it – his large, imposing desk, a wooden chair, the shelves filled with odd jars around the room with the chalkboards hidden behind them. She closed the door behind her and sat down in the chair across from the desk, resisting the urge to swing her legs as she waited.

Finally, Snape scrawled a grade at the top of the essay and set down his quill, looking at her expectantly.

"Well, Miss Granger?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I think," she began, "that I might have messed something up and need your help."

Snape sniffed.

"I'd expected you far before now, honestly," he said. There was an annoyed undertone to his voice that Hermione hadn't expected, and she blinked as he aimed his wand at the door.

" _Colloportus._ "

The door's lock turned shut, and Snape turned back to her, fixing his glinting eyes on her. "Now, Miss Granger – tell me _exactly_ what you and Mister Malfoy did."

Hermione blinked.

"That?" she said, confused. "Oh! No, no, that worked perfectly, professor. I don't need your help with that."

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Mister Malfoy ended up hospitalized for a _week_ ," he drawled, "and your unknown ritual worked _perfectly?_ "

Hermione flushed at his tone.

"Well, maybe not _perfectly_ ," Hermione muttered. "But that was Draco's own fault. If he hadn't been so caught up in his own stupid ego, everything would have been _fine_."

Snape's eyebrow remained raised, politely incredulous, and Hermione looked away.

"Anyway, Draco's fine now," she said. "I need- I did something else, a while ago, and I think I might not be okay."

Snape's expression shifted slightly.

"…elaborate, Miss Granger."

Hermione bit her lip. Snape's eyes were on her, scrutinizing, and she took a deep breath, gathering her courage. She had the impulse to ask him to not get mad at her, but she resisted the urge – she wasn't a child anymore; she could face up to the consequences of her actions, even if it meant her Head of House's displeasure.

"You might remember," Hermione began, "that last year, we had… a conversation."

Snape's eyes gleamed.

"I remember several," he said. "Perhaps you should be more specific."

Hermione twisted her hands in the chair.

"…we discussed how a witch's power begins to grow exponentially," she said finally, "when she starts her menstrual cycle."

Snape's eyebrows rose very high, and Hermione felt a flicker of amusement. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, it hadn't been _that_.

"I…" Snape frowned. "That seems familiar…"

"It was when I asked you about flying," Hermione offered. "You… somewhat let it slip?"

Snape sighed.

"Regardless of whether or not I should have said anything, the fact remains true," he acknowledged. "What of it, Miss Granger?"

"Well…" Hermione bit her lip. "I want to be the most powerful witch I can be, so I charted out when would be the optimal time to get my period, in order to maximize my magical growth-"

"You _what?_ " Snape's voice was sharp. "Miss Granger, am I to believe you-"

"I couldn't," Hermione said hurriedly. "I didn't know the math. I had to ask Professor Vector for help, but she helped me, and the answer was the 18th month after I turned eleven. That month would be – you know – magically optimal to get my period."

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously at her from over the desk.

"And what, pray tell, did you do with this knowledge, Miss Granger?" he breathed.

Hermione winced.

"I… umm…"

"Because while I can imagine a young man trying his best to get the desired result to take advantage of such knowledge," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "young women do not exactly have the same course of action available to them."

Hermione gathered her courage once more.

"I did a ritual," she admitted. "On the new moon, back in March. On top of the Astronomy tower. It was… it was designed to help witches struggling to conceive. It forces ovulation…"

Snape inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, his eyes alight.

"…and I figured, well, so long as there _wasn't_ any chance of conception, then it would cause a period, right?" She winced. "And it _did_. I thought it worked. Only… only that was the only one, and I never had another one after that, so it didn't have the effect of maximizing my magical potential like I thought."

Snape regarded her silently.

"And now… well, my magic _changed_ , sir," Hermione rushed. "But… if it didn't change how I _thought_ it had changed, then… I don't know what I _did_ , or if I hurt myself somehow."

She finished, looking at Snape with uncertain eyes. There was a long silence as he regarded her with sharp eyes, steepling his hands.

"So. Let me summarize."

Snape stood from behind his desk.

"In order to further your ambition, you performed a dangerous Dark ritual alone-"

"It wasn't Dark!" Hermione objected. "I _checked!_ I asked you beforehand!"

"-dangerous _Grey_ ritual, then, _alone_ ," Snape snapped, continuing, "on top of the Astronomy tower when you were _twelve,_ with the goal of starting your menses. And because biology _does not work like that_ , you had one menstrual cycle but no others, and now, _half a year later_ , you are concerned you've hurt yourself?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"I know I'm fine biologically?" she offered. "My mum made me get checked out by a gynecologist."

"You told your _Muggle mother-?_ "

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose very tightly.

"Miss Granger," he said. "I thought you were one of the smarter students in my classes." His look was sharp, and Hermione recoiled, feeling almost as if his glare had cut her. "What _possessed_ you to risk your magic and your body and your _life_ with forbidden Grey rituals, _alone?_ "

Hermione shrank under his words. His disgust and disappointment were like a physical presence in the room, pressing down on her.

"I just wanted to be the best," she whispered. "I… I didn't want to fall behind, I didn't want to be bad at magic because of bad luck in the biological lottery…"

Snape gave her a dark look.

"You are very, very _lucky_ ," he said finally, "that nothing harmful befell you from the utter _stupidity_ of your actions."

"But my magic, though," Hermione said. "I don't know what-"

"If your magic had been harmed, we would have known it before now," Snape said. "Come, now. Stand up. Let's see just what you _have_ done to yourself, you silly girl."

Obedient, Hermione hopped to her feet. Snape moved the chair from behind her and set it aside before he began to cast a series of strange charms, each one causing a wisp of colored energy to circle her. He frowned.

"Your magical pool is very large, for someone your age," he said, giving her a look. "How are you _sure_ your scheme didn't work?"

"Luna can see when someone hits that point," Hermione told him. "It changes their aura."

Snape's lip curled. "Of course. Miss _Lovegood_."

"I believe her, sir," Hermione objected. "Luna is a Seer."

"True seers are _rare_ , Miss Granger…" Snape continued to circle her, frowning. "…nevertheless, your claim seems to be true." He shot her a look. "Did you do anything _else_ to try and expand your magical capacity?"

"No other rituals," Hermione said. "I still drain my magic completely every night before I go to bed, to push it to get better and expand."

"I am still astonished that it is working for you," Snape said. "Magical exhaustion is what put Mister Malfoy in the hospital not so long ago."

"Practice makes perfect?" Hermione offered, and Snape snorted despite himself. Hermione squirmed as Snape circled her, casting charms and frowning at the results.

"Miss Granger," he said finally. "I would like to see you cast a spell."

"Um, okay," she said. "What spell?"

"Something difficult," he told her. "Something that uses a lot of your magic up."

Hermione glanced around, finally aiming her wand at the wooden chair she'd been sitting on.

 _"Gemino_."

There was a rush of power from her, thundering through her ears, and Hermione _staggered_ under the weight of the magic she'd just cast – of _course_ a chair would be much harder to duplicate than a silly book or a piece of paper–

"Miss Granger!"

Idly, Hermione realized she'd fallen over. She giggled up at the ceiling for a moment, her mind feeling blank, before her thoughts slowly filtered back to her. She groaned and rolled over, sitting up as her head throbbed.

"Did it work…?"

Snape gestured wordlessly.

A second chair sat next to the first, identical in every way. Hermione had managed to replicate even the small notches on one of the legs where someone had carved the initials _WR_ , she saw. She grinned weakly, making her way over to it to lift herself onto the new chair.

"Did that help?" she asked. "The spell, I mean?"

Snape gave her an inscrutable look.

"See for yourself," he said finally, and with a word and a gesture, an image coalesced and turned in front of Hermione.

It looked like a big oval, a gold, faintly-wavering outline circling the image. Inside the oval was what looked like a light violet liquid shot with silver, moving up and down slightly, and wavy like the ocean. The oval was about half full with the violet liquid, and as Hermione watched, the level of the purple rose within the oval.

"This," Snape said, "is a visualization construct your magical power."

"My magic is violet?" Hermione asked, excitement flickering in her. "That's so cool! That's my favorite color."

"That is _not_ the point." Snape pinched his nose tightly. "Miss Granger, what do you see?"

"Umm, an oval with violet inside of it," she said. "The violet was lower, but it looks like it's filling the oval back up? It slowed down at about the halfway point, but the level's still rising pretty well."

"You are correct," Snape said. "Now: this is _my_ magical power."

Snape moved to sit next to her in the original wooden chair, casting, and a second oval bubbled into existence.

This oval, too, was outlined in gold. There was silver shot through the inside of this one as well, only this oval was filled entirely with black.

"Your magic is black, sir?" Hermione questioned.

"It wasn't always." Snape sighed. "It used to be blue. Now: watch. _Expecto Patronum._ "

Hermione gasped as a burst of silver light flooded the room, coalescing into some sort of animal and galloping away through the door. She kept a careful eye on the ovals, though, as instructed.

Snape's oval had gone down some, maybe a seventh of it gone.

"That's not enough. _Expecto Patronum_. _Expecto Patronum._ "

He cast a few more times, silver flooding the room and dazzling her before the ghostly animals left the room. Finally, his oval was about half empty, as hers had been.

"You have so much more magic," Hermione said, envious.

"I'm an adult," Snape dismissed. "It's to be expected."

Hermione sighed but nodded and watched, waiting to see what Snape's concern was. She couldn't see what he was pointing out, though. His circle was fine, half-full of gently roiling black liquid.

Snape sighed.

"Miss Granger," he said. "Duplicate that vase, will you?"

Hermione hadn't even realized he _had_ a vase in his office, but there on top of one of the shelves was a dark black glass vase. Hermione shrugged, aiming.

" _Gemino."_

A rush went through her, and a second vase wobbled precariously into existence on top of the shelves.

" _Now,_ " Snape said with satisfaction. "Look."

Hermione looked back to the ovals.

Duplicating the vase had drained her – her oval was only about half full again, the same as Snape's. But even as she watched, her level began to rise again, quickly moving up higher and higher, while Snape's stayed much the same.

Hermione's eyes flew to his.

"Why isn't yours regenerating?" she asked, alarmed. "Why isn't your power coming back?"

"It _is_ ," Snape said. "But just at a _normal_ rate of regeneration. This is what normal wizards' power regeneration looks like, Miss Granger. This is why we rest and recover regularly when practicing spells – eventually, your magic runs out."

Hermione stared at him, then at her oval again, which was almost full to the top.

"But then…" Hermione's mouth was dry. "Why does mine…?"

"You were trying to make your magical capacity grow exponentially, yes?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"It seems that you successfully triggered whatever part of your magic causes exponential growth, with your little _ritual,_ " Snape said, his lip curling. "However, without a continuing cycle, your magic could not grow exponentially as intended. But you had still triggered _something,_ and your magic had to adapt to account for that."

Realization dawned on her as he continued.

"You didn't make your total magic capacity grow exponentially," he told her. "You've exponentially increased your ability to _recover_ spent magic."

Hermione gave him an uncertain look. "Is… is that good?"

"I suspect there will be side effects." Snape folded his arms. "Increased metabolism, perhaps. Exhaustion. Bouts of mania. Mental breakdowns. Hallucinations. Possible burnout of your core, if you expend too much magic too fast and put too much of a demand on yourself."

Hermione tried not to panic. She wondered if there was a way she could look up all that might happen to her. Surely there had to be books on how _not_ to burn out your core or become manic…?

"Anything that might happen will probably come into play after your core _properly_ begins to grow," Snape told her. "But, even with those side effects…"

His eyes met hers, a speculative gleam in their depths.

"…I suspect if he could have, the Dark Lord would have done exactly the same himself."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how a statement comparing her to the Dark Lord came off like a compliment, but she somehow felt rather flattered nonetheless.


	110. The Halloween Feast

October passed much as September had, with the addition of wet to the cloudy skies. Hermione missed the calmer weather – she'd enjoyed going out in the courtyard to study or talk, and she didn't know a good enough water-repellent spell to work as an umbrella to risk it.

The professors were all steadily increasing their workload. It seemed they all had greater expectations on them now that they were second years, and they were being treated accordingly. Hermione didn't mind – the essays the teachers assigned were good review for her, and she was learning new things all the time as she researched to complete them. Hermione had always enjoyed meeting or exceeding her professors' expectations, and she was pleased to get professors' positive comments back when their homework was returned.

Snape never gave positive comments on her essays. There were notes scrawled in the margins occasionally, questioning why she hadn't considered the Even Distribution Principle or why she didn't account for the origin of fluxweed, but Hermione knew by now that she was the only one to get such comments – the Even Distribution Principle wasn't even taught until O.W.L. year, she had found when she looked it up.

The most positive thing she'd gotten from Snape so far had been a raised eyebrow and a dry, " _Do_ try to keep your footnotes to a reasonable number next time, Miss Granger." She had flushed a brilliant red as she took her essay back, a "100" marked at the top in red. Hermione had heard Ron hiss to Harry from across the room, demanding to know what a footnote was, and Snape had docked him points for whispering in class.

Hermione was all too aware of her desire to prove herself to Snape. Part of it was that her other teachers so often commended her and recognized her skills and abilities, awarding her points in class, where Snape did not. After class, when critiquing her and Theo's potions, he would sometimes award points for clever thinking or innovation, but never in front of her classmates. Snape seemed to use points more as a weapon than a teaching tool like the other professors; he often awarded Slytherin points more to enrage the Gryffindors than to recognize a Slytherin's contributions as valuable.

But another part of it was Hermione's deep sense of embarrassment and shame. Her head of house had called her a fool for doing the ritual she had, trying to jumpstart her period. Even though it ended up being mostly a positive (Hermione was desperately trying not to think about what might happen to her magic when she _did_ get her period properly), she knew that she'd been overconfident in her ambition.

Hermione looked up to Snape, and she desperately wanted to earn his high regard back.

By the time Halloween rolled around, all the second years were ready for a break. Hermione had heard rumors that the Great Hall had been decorated with live bats and enormous carved pumpkins, and she couldn't help but be excited. She'd missed the feast last year, crying in the bathroom, and she was looking forward to the experience.

When she'd asked Harry, Neville, and Ron if they were excited, though, she'd gotten an unexpected reaction – Harry had groaned, Neville laughed, and Ron shot Harry a venomous look.

"We're– we're not going," Harry said. "We've been invited to a different party."

"A different party?" Hermione questioned carefully. The only other celebrations she knew about were those celebrating the downfall of Voldemort. Given the death of Harry's parents and Harry's unease with his fame, she would be surprised if Harry opted to go to one of those.

"Nearly Headless Nick's 500th Deathday party is today," Harry said dully. "I agreed to go."

"Harry's being overly nice to a _ghost_ ," Ron grumbled, "'cause he got his feelings hurt for his head not getting cut off all the way."

"We're being supportive friends to Harry," Neville told Ron, giving him a look. "We're also showing support for our House ghost. Solidarity is important, Ron."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said, waving him off. "But still."

The idea of going to a party for a House ghost was distinctly odd to Hermione. The Bloody Baron, the Slytherin house ghost, was around, sure, and he was certainly a ghost, but… it wasn't like she'd ever _talked_ to him. He just kind of lurked around, silently pointing lost Slytherin first years in the correct direction if they got really lost.

She didn't even know why he was covered in blood, come to think of it. And yet, from the sound of it, the Gryffindors were _friends_ with their house ghost.

"At least it sounds interesting?" Hermione offered. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those."

"Probably for good reason," Ron said, and Neville elbowed him sharply, looking annoyed.

* * *

When seven o'clock finally rolled around, Hermione went to dinner with the rest of her House, only to stop short in the doorway and gasp.

The Great Hall had been transformed.

Hermione had expected the live bats, having been warned, but she hadn't realized just _how_ enormous the pumpkins would be. They looked like they were big enough for three adults to comfortably stand up inside, and Hermione wondered how large the seeds had been and just how much pumpkin goop had been dumped into the Forbidden Forest when Hagrid was carving them out.

The hall had been decorated in orange and gold, which Hermione thought looked good – much better than orange and black, at any rate. There were dancing skeletons at the front of the hall, which prompted gasps from the first years and a discussion amongst the Ravenclaws on the ethics of making skeletons dance.

"I mean, it's not as if they're _alive_ ," Terry argued, "so how could they agree to make fools of themselves like this?"

"If they're not _alive_ , what's it matter?" Michael Corner shot back. "Some wizard dug up a few graves and charmed the bones. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal, Corner, is the precept of _Bodily Integrity,_ not that I would expect _you_ to know that…"

Their argument trailed off as they went to the Ravenclaw table, Hermione making her way over to the Slytherin table instead.

"How can the skeletons have bodily integrity if they don't have a body?" Blaise quipped, and Tracey and Millie snickered, while Hermione considered.

"It's a legitimate question, though," she said. "Whose skeletons _are_ they?"

"They're probably not even real," Theo said, joining the conversation. "They're likely transfigured. Dumbledore and Flitwick probably set it up together."

"You think?" Tracey asked, frowning. "I heard Dumbledore booked a troupe of them."

"Nah," Theo said, dismissive. "Think about the logistics – enchanting dead bodies or dead body parts is necromancy. Even if you're not doing anything _illegal_ , there's no way a wizard like Dumbledore would ever hire someone who performed genuine necromancy."

"Do people _do_ that?" Hermione said, astonished. "Necromancy?"

"Dark wizards," Theo said, shrugging. "Most of it is very illegal. The Dark Lord was known for making armies of inferi – that's when you enchant a dead body to move and obey you."

Tracey shuddered, while Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"How does that even work?" she wanted to know. "Bodies are in various states of decay, and the decay wouldn't stop just because they were magically animated, would it? Did the bodies just wander about, losing limbs as they went?"

Theo gave her an odd look while Blaise laughed.

"Trust Hermione not to be horrified by the idea of an army of inferi, but by the hygiene and logistics of it all," he laughed, nudging her, and Hermione flushed red.

"I was just _saying_ ," she objected. "It just doesn't seem very logical."

Theo was still giving her an odd look.

"I think he mostly used the fresh corpses of those he killed," he said finally. "Killing curse, dead body, inferi. Though I was an infant when all this was happening, so it's not as if I actually _know_."

"I'm glad we've only got skeletons," Tracey piped in. "I can handle silly dancing bones, but I don't want some dead _body_ dancing near my food."

As they all settled in, the skeletons finished up their dance number and danced out of the way and over to the sides of the hall, some of the students applauding as they did. Dumbledore stood and clapped his hands. The Hall fell silent as Dumbledore looked out over them all, beaming.

"Happy Halloween!" he said, gesturing grandly. He was wearing purple robes with a pattern of orange pumpkins with bright orange piping. "I hope everyone is having an excellent Halloween so far."

"I was until I saw that crime against fashion," Daphne murmured, and Hermione and the other Slytherin girls stifled a snicker.

"We have several special events planned for tonight," Dumbledore continued. "In addition to our evening's dancing entertainment, we have a pumpkin carving competition and bobbing for apples! If you'd like to participate, please come forward, and the prefects will help arrange everyone into lines. Now, please – enjoy the feast!"

The golden platters on the tables all filled with food, and there was a murmur through the hall before everyone began to eat.

The food was very good, and Hermione took delight in filling her plate with some of her favorites. There was goose, rooster, and lamb on large platters, roasted or braised to perfection, and there was an assortment of sweet breads, roasted hazelnuts, and several apple and pumpkin dishes.

It was only when Hermione realized that there were also baskets of _raw_ apples about the tables that she began to wonder.

"Who plans this feast?" Hermione asked.

"The Headmaster," Theo answered. "Isn't it obvious? He _loves_ Halloween."

"Not the event itself," Hermione said. "Just the feast itself. Who decides what _food_ we're served?"

Theo looked at her quizzically. "No idea. Why? Does it matter?"

"It's just…" Hermione gestured. "These are all traditional foods for _Samhain_. Not ones for Halloween."

There was an abrupt hush around her, Theo and Draco turning to her panicked.

"You _cannot say that!_ " Theo hissed. "It is _not_ spoken about anymore!"

"That's been branded as a Dark festival," Draco said quickly, his eyes darting about. "The Dark Lord would celebrate it with his followers."

"So?" Hermione challenged. "I'm sure _lots_ of people celebrated it. It's the traditional holiday for today, not this Halloween nonsense–"

"He celebrated it _very traditionally_ with his followers _,"_ Draco emphasized. "It wasn't just goose and lamb they sacrificed, Hermione."

Hermione stopped as she realized. She began to feel vaguely ill.

"That's… that's horrendous," she said, appetite gone. "Why would they…?"

Theo shrugged.

"I suspect it started with a surplus of alcohol and a lot of anger and bloodlust," he said, taking a pumpkin pastry for himself. "It probably evolved from there. I suspect many of the Death Eaters happily seized on any excuse to go out and murder muggles."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Still, though," she said. "These foods… who planned them, if not the Headmaster?"

They all considered silently for a moment, eating quietly.

"Do you think the House Elves?" Tracey ventured.

Millie nodded. "That would make sense. If anyone would keep the traditions, it would be them."

Theo looked torn.

"…I find it hard to believe that the Headmaster would condone celebrating that festival, even subtly," he said. "But the evidence is right here."

"Maybe the Headmaster doesn't know," Blaise said, shrugging.

"How would he not know, Zabini?" Theo snapped. "He's eating along with the rest of us, isn't he?"

"Maybe they've got different food up at the front," Blaise suggested. "Not hard to arrange for fancier food for the staff, is it? And it'd go completely without suspicion. How much attention do you think the professors pay to what the students eat?"

Hermione looked thoughtful.

"That's very possible," she said. "Of course, there's only one way to check that."

"What?" Draco wanted to know.

Hermione offered him a smirk. "Someone would have to go up and check."

"Oh, like _that's_ not suspicious," Theo snorted.

"It's not suspicious," Hermione said, "if they're participating in one of the Halloween activities."

There was a pause.

"Oh, _hell_ no," Blaise said immediately. "Not it. I _refuse_."

Theo looked ill, but Draco smirked.

"Goyle," he said. "Come here."

Gregory Goyle stood obligingly and came down the table. He and Vincent Crabbe had been sitting next to a third-year boy who had been arm wrestling with them.

"What," he grunted.

"I need you and Crabbe to go and do bobbing for apples," Draco told him. "When you go up to try, pay attention to what all the professors are eating at the head table. I want to know every dish they're having."

Greg had been nodding along, but he froze at this.

"That's a lot to remember," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"It's _food_ to remember," he said. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Crabbe'll help you, anyway. Now go."

Obedient, Greg lumbered off, stopping to talk to and get Vincent, before the two of them went up to the front of the Great Hall. Six sets of Slytherin eyes watched them as they went.

"Snape looks miffed," Blaise observed. "I bet he didn't want any of his Slytherins participating in this farce."

Hermione took a lamb chop as she watched the two attempt to be subtle while looking at the food on the head table, taking turns dunking their heads in a bucket.

"Just think of how many nasty mouths went into that water," Tracey said, making a face. "Gryffindor saliva bits just floating around."

Millie gagged. "Thanks for that image, Tracey."

"Well, I was just _saying…_ "

When the two boys returned, it was with dripping heads and damp robes.

"I got a green apple," Vince told Draco. "Greg got a red one."

They held up their apples triumphantly, each apple scarred with multiple teeth marks.

"…and?" Draco said impatiently. "What did they have at the head table?"

"Oh," Greg said. "There was a lot of food."

Draco groaned and thunked his head off the table, but Greg began counting, wrenching up his face.

"Wrapped sausages in pastries, venison, some kind of beef," he said, ticking off on his fingers. "Candied apples, butternut squash soup, some kind of potato patty, and decorated cookies."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "There was no lamb or goose?" she questioned. "Or apples?"

"Only apples were dipped in caramel," Vince confirmed. "No lamb or goose. No nuts, either."

Hermione exchanged a significant look with Theo and Draco, who looked conflicted.

"Good job, mates," Draco said. "Thanks. You can go sit down."

Greg and Vince went to sit back down, each still holding a scarred apple from their bout in the bobbing bucket.

"So the professors _don't_ get the same foods we do," Hermione murmured, "which means the House Elves are keeping the Samhain traditions alive without the Headmaster knowing."

Theo looked considering, while Draco's eyes lit.

"Do you think they have a bonfire somewhere?" he asked. "I've always wanted to participate in a bonfire."

"Are you really going to go down and celebrate with the _House Elves?_ " Theo said, aghast. "Malfoy, _really-_ "

" _No._ But if they _have_ one somewhere, and I can find it, we can use it _without_ the ruddy elves there–"

Hermione tuned their bickering out, considering the implications of this as she munched on hazelnuts.

If the House Elves were acting independently of the Headmaster in this matter, going against his wishes and taking efforts to deliberately deceive him…

How much loyalty to the Headmaster did they actually hold?


	111. The Writing on the Wall

Hermione was pleasantly full by the time the feast ended, and everyone was in a contented mood. When the feast ended, she pushed herself up, joining her classmates as they left to head back down to the dungeons.

"That was wonderful," she groaned, putting a hand atop her stomach. "I'm sorry I missed out on it last year."

"I dunno," Tracy said, grinning. "Defeating a troll was a pretty good reason to miss, if you ask me."

They teased each other as they headed down the stairs until Hermione saw something odd and stopped short. Tracey crashed into her, with Millie crashing into her, and the crowd came to a stuttering halt as the people in the front stopped and stared.

The corridor was puddled with water. Hanging from a torch bracket by the tail swung a recognizable shape.

"Is that a _cat?_ " Tracey whispered, horrified.

"That's Mrs. Norris," Hermione said quietly, sickened. "Who would do such a thing?"

As her eyes continued, she saw there were large words daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

 **THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN** **OPENED.  
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

"Is that blood?" Tracey hissed, but Hermione ignored her.

To the side of the words, pinned in by students coming down the other staircase, were Harry, Neville, and Ron, the three of them caught at the scene of the crime, all three of them looking uneasy and shifty.

"What on earth…?" Hermione murmured, eyes wide.

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by the murmurs and crowding, Argus Filch pushed his way through the crowd, glaring at them all. Hermione could see the moment he saw Mrs. Norris, his face transforming to one of horror.

"My cat! My _cat!_ " he shrieked. "What happened to Mrs. Norris?"

His eyes fell on Harry, who took a step back.

" _You!_ " he screeched. " _You!_ You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—"

" _Argus!_ "

Dumbledore had arrived, flanked by Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Lockhart. He swept forward and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket, making Hermione flinch.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom."

"My office is nearest, Headmaster," Lockhart said eagerly, stepping forward. "Just upstairs. Please feel free—"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

They all parted silently to let them pass. Dumbledore looked grave, as did McGonagall and Snape. Lockhart looked excited, while Harry, Neville, and Ron all looked like they might be sick. As they left the corridor, murmurs quietly broke out, students carefully venturing forward towards the wall.

"That's enough of this nonsense!"

Percy Weasley had stepped forward, looking important.

"Everyone, return to your dormitories," he said. "There's nothing to see here. Your Heads of House will undoubtedly tell you everything you need to know after an investigation is conducted."

"That's brilliant, Weasley," Jade drawled, taking a step forward to join the other prefect. "Only… Slytherin house needs to go through this corridor to get to our common room."

Percy flushed. "Oh. Well— then—"

"I'll monitor the house to make sure everyone behaves," Jade said lazily, giving him a dismissive look. "If you want to escort your lions upstairs, I'll escort my snakes to where they need to go."

Percy nodded rapidly. "Yes, excellent. Prefects, to your houses! Escort your house to their common room…"

The corridor gradually cleared out, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor leaving. Hufflepuff was long gone; they hadn't taken a route that neared the corridor. After everyone was gone, Jade turned to them all, danger flickering in her eyes.

"We are all going down to our common room, together," she announced. "Before we do, does anyone have anything they want to say?"

She glared out over them all, as if waiting for one of them to confess. Hermione looked around, before raising her hand. Jade looked surprised.

"Granger?" she said. "What is it?"

"Does anyone know how to test what kind of blood that is?" Hermione said. "Before someone comes and cleans it up?"

Jade looked at her suspiciously.

"Why?" she asked, and Hermione shrugged.

"It seems like a good idea to figure out where all that blood came from," she said. "If it's an animal's blood, well, alright, nobody's going to care much if an animal's gone missing. But if that much blood is from a _human…_ "

She trailed off, and Jade paled.

"Fair point." She straightened, clearing her throat. "Slytherin — does anyone know how to identify different types of blood?"

There was a hush and a murmur, everyone looking around. After a long moment, a tall, pale boy strode forward, shooting dark looks around at everyone.

"Who is that?" Hermione whispered. "He looks angry."

"Evzen Dolohov," Tracey whispered back.

"Who?"

"His father's in Azkaban for being a Death Eater," Blaise murmured, stepping forward next to her. "Quiet, Hermione. Watch."

Scowling at everyone, Evzen approached Jade, who nodded respectfully and stepped aside.

The tall boy approached the wall, withdrawing a dark, crooked wand. He touched the point to the wall in a particularly gleaming area, murmuring something under his breath as he dragged it to the right, smearing the blood. As he did, he pulled back, and there was a chilling gust of wind through the corridor and a murmur as a red haze gradually formed a picture in the air, red droplets of blood coming together to make an image.

"It is a rooster," Evzen said, looking to Jade. "A chicken. Not human. I am sure."

Jade nodded respectfully, her face a mask of neutrality. "Thank you, Dolohov."

Evzen melted back into the crowd, and Jade looked out over them all.

"Anyone else?" she questioned. "Or can we return to the common room?"

No one else said anything, and Jade turned and led them down the corridor to the dungeons in a heavy silence. Hermione's eyes were darting around, wide. Tracey and Millie both looked ill, while Draco's eyes were feverish and alight. Theo's eyes were carefully neutral, while Blaise looked skeptical and curious.

As they filed through the passageway into their common room, without discussing it beforehand, all the Slytherins waited in the common room, no one leaving to go to their dormitory just yet. Hermione moved to a table near the lake, carefully keeping her back to the wall. She watched as Jade closed the passageway behind the last of them, turning to face them all.

"One last time," she said quietly. Her words were like a challenge. "Does anyone want to share anything?"

There was a silence, and Jade scowled.

"Regardless of whatever the _Headmaster's_ investigation turns up, everyone's eyes are going to be on us," she said. "People are going to look for the Heir of Slytherin in Slytherin. Stay together, don't go anywhere alone, and for Merlin's sake, _don't let them get to you_. Got it?"

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, as did the rest of the house, and Jade let out a sigh.

"Dismissed," she said finally. "Get to bed, people. Get to bed."

As people filed out of the common room, Hermione drifted towards Theo and Draco, who looked at her suspiciously.

"Heir of Slytherin?" she questioned. "Chamber of Secrets?"

Theo groaned. "You know so little, don't you?"

"Then tell me," Hermione said simply.

Draco glanced over his shoulder.

"Jade is watching us all," he said. "We can't lurk here."

"Then I'll follow you to your dorm," Hermione said. "I want to know _now._ "

Theo and Draco exchanged an uneasy glance, but Hermione's gaze was like fire.

"Shall we?" she said.

Hermione hid in front of Theo and Draco as they went down the path to the boys' dormitories, crouching to keep out of sight. When they guided her to turn into one of the rooms off the path, Hermione stopped short, before Theo pushed her inside.

"What is that _smell?_ " she asked, horrified. Theo rolled his eyes as he shut the door.

"Don't start," he warned her.

"Hermione?"

Hermione turned to see Blaise grinning at her.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said. "Join me?"

He patted the area on his bed next to him with a flirtatious grin. Hermione rolled her eyes but went to sit next to him regardless. Draco looked put out, but Hermione shot him a look.

"Now," she said. "I believe there's something about the Heir of Slytherin for you to unpack?"

Exchanging a heavy glance with each other, Draco and Theo began to quietly tell Hermione the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, the monster within, and the Heir of Slytherin, prophesized to return one day to finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work. They were deadly serious in tone, and Hermione felt herself shiver.

"You'll need to be careful, Hermione," Draco said, at the end of the legend. "Who knows what the Heir will do?"

Hermione nodded slowly, thoughtful.

"I wonder…" she said. "I suppose we shall see."


	112. Meeting Moaning Myrtle

The next day, Harry told her everything.

"I heard that _voice_ again," he said. "It kept going 'rip, tear, kill' and going on about how it had been so hungry for so long. Then it went 'I smell blood', and we were chasing it when we came upon Mrs. Norris. We were too shocked to get away before everyone else showed up."

Hermione looked at Neville and Ron.

"Did either of you hear this voice?" she asked.

They both shook their heads.

"I didn't hear anything," Ron said. "Just Harry, yelling about hearing someone."

"Just because _we_ didn't hear it doesn't mean that Harry didn't hear it," Neville told Ron.

"Exactly," Hermione said, nodding satisfactorily. Her eyes fixed on Harry. "That means there's something special about _you_ , allowing you to hear this odd voice."

"Special about me?" Harry looked uneasy. "I survived the killing curse, Hermione. That's it. I'm nothing special otherwise."

"Current circumstances beg to differ," Hermione said, folding her arms. "Whatever attacked Mrs. Norris, you clearly heard it when no one else did."

"Filch was furious," Neville said, shuddering. "He looked like he was going to have a full-on breakdown. He only calmed down a little when Dumbledore said that she was Petrified, not dead…"

"Filch blamed Harry," Ron snickered. "Said Harry did it because he knew Filch was a Squib."

Hermione blinked.

"A Squib?" she repeated. "I suppose that makes sense. I wondered why he never used magic."

"I didn't even know what it was," Harry said. "I felt like a fool."

"Snape kept pushing for us to be punished," Neville said. "He could tell we weren't telling the teachers everything — we didn't want to say Harry had been hearing voices — and he was trying to get Harry kicked off the Quidditch team."

"Lockhart was trying to show off and annoyed Snape, too," Ron said, sniggering. "If Lockhart kicks it in the next week, we'll know Snape poisoned him."

Hermione wasn't sure she'd care if he did.

* * *

Rumors of the attack flew around the school wildly for the next few days. Filch kept prowling around near the scene of the crime, as if he thought the attacker would come back. And the words on the wall continued to gleam, despite Filch's best efforts to clean off the blood. No one knew what was going on, but rumors of the Chamber of Secrets were whispered in the corridors from ear to ear, the legend gradually spreading throughout the school.

Hermione was careful not to go anywhere alone, sticking close to her fellow Slytherins when she went through the halls. There were rumors in Slytherin that this had all happened before, that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before some fifty years ago, and that the last time, a Muggle-born had _died_. And though Hermione was normally one to dismiss rumors, Slytherin rumors had an _uncanny_ habit of being unusually accurate, their sources never fully disclosed.

Several of the older, snobbier Slytherins were whispering loudly and snickering now when they saw her, but Hermione tried to pay them no mind. Even if Salazar Slytherin _had_ put a monster in the castle to get rid of the unworthy, there was no way that _she_ would ever be considered 'unworthy'.

She would make _sure_ of it.

Some of the rumors grew ridiculous. Whispers of _Harry_ being the Heir of Slytherin spread throughout the school, as he'd been found at the scene of the crime, and the rumors seemed to upset Harry a lot.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley ran away from me at lunchtime," he said. "Colin's heard the rumors too and fled from me as well."

"Creevey was carried off in the crowd," Ron objected. "It was change of classes, and he's a titchy little thing."

"Still…" Harry looked depressed.

"Do you think there's really a Chamber of Secrets?" Neville asked Hermione.

Hermione shrugged. "There might be. The Slytherins seem to think so."

"They would," Ron dismissed. "Of _course_ they'd want to believe that their founder made some giant secret dungeon that held terrifying monsters."

"It's a bit more than that," Hermione said tersely. "Rumor in the Slytherin common room is that this happened before fifty years ago, and that at least one Muggle-born _died_."

"I've never heard that," Neville said, eyes wide.

"That because it probably didn't happen," Ron said. "The Slytherins just like to feel superior and scare people."

"If that _had_ happened, unless they found the monster and chamber, they might have covered it up," Hermione said. "There's not much evidence for a chamber either way, is there?"

"We could look." Harry's eyes were hard. "We could look around near the scene of the crime."

Hermione watched the Gryffindor boys all exchange glances, determination and adventure in their eyes. She sighed, standing and dusting off her robes.

"I recognize that look," she said wryly. "We might learn something, I suppose. Why not?"

"It's not like Filch is going to figure out anything," Ron pointed out, to which Hermione had to agree.

The corridor where the attack had happened looked very much the same, with the exception of the missing cat. The wall still read "The Chamber of Secrets has been Opened," and except for a chair against the wall, Hermione could detect no difference.

"Look at these!" Harry said. "Scorch marks!"

Hermione frowned.

" _Scorch_ marks?" she said. "Wasn't there water on the floor that night?"

"Maybe a fire spell went out of control and they needed to put the fire out?" Harry suggested.

"Come look at this!" said Neville. "This is funny…"

Hermione and Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall, where nearly two dozen spiders were scuttling, fighting to get through a small crack. There was a long, dangly silvery thread, hanging like a rope they'd all climbed in a hurry.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Neville said wonderingly.

"No," said Harry. "Have you, Ron? ...Ron?"

Hermione glanced at Ron, who seemed on the verge of an anxiety attack.

"What's up?" said Harry.

Hermione winced.

"Arachnophobia?" she asked. "There's plenty of people like that. Go look on the other side of the corridor, Ron. We'll handle this."

Ron nodded gratefully and hurried away while she watched the spiders. Harry watched Ron, a funny look on his face.

"I never knew Ron was afraid of spiders," he said. Hermione shrugged.

"I suspect it hasn't come up before now," she said. "I'm sure you can ask him about it later."

She pulled away from the spiders to look around.

"The only noticeable difference is the lack of Mrs. Norris," she said.

"And the water," Harry said, remembering. "It was all in this hall. It came to about here." He stopped at a door bearing an "Out of Order" sign.

"You can't go in there," Ron objected. "That's a girls' toilet."

"No one will be using it if it's out of order," Hermione said. "Just go in."

With that, Harry put his hand on the knob and opened the door.

The bathroom was one of the gloomiest she'd ever seen. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by a few stubs of candles. The mirror was speckled with water and dirt and cracked in several places, and the sinks looked chipped and rusted. The stall doors were flaking and old, decaying on their hinges. Hermione was reminded why she never used this toilet and always held it until she was back in the Slytherin dungeons — this toilet was _always_ marked as Out of Order, and for good reason, it seemed.

"Oh!" Neville said abruptly. "Ah, hello, Myrtle."

Hermione looked up to see the floating ghost of a girl not much older than herself — a fourth or fifth year, she would have guessed. She was dressed in what looked like an old-fashioned uniform, and she had dark, lank hair and thick pearly spectacles.

"This is a _girls'_ bathroom," Myrtle said, eyeing them suspiciously. " _You're_ not girls."

"Ah— no, we're not," Neville said. "We just— we thought we'd come and visit you? After Peeves was so mean to you when we met you at the Deathday party…"

Hermione stared at the ghost, tuning out Neville and Harry working to assuage the ghost with their good intentions. Myrtle looked young, only maybe a few years older than Hermione, and as the implications sank in, Hermione slowly grew more and more horrified.

"Myrtle," she said finally, interrupting Neville's assurance that her glasses looked fine on her. "Were you a student here when you died?"

Myrtle gave Hermione a dark look.

"Oh, that's _funny_ ," she said nastily. "Poor Myrtle died _normally_ , but no one _liked_ her, so she came back to haunt a _toilet_ instead–"

"I'm being serious," Hermione said sharply. "I'm a student at this school. If you _died_ while at this school, forgive me if I'm a bit _concerned_ about it."

"Hermione?" Neville said, cautious.

"If you had an accidental death, I understand that unfortunate things occur, but most people who return as ghosts died _violently_ ," Hermione went on. "If you were _killed_ while in school, it is an _outrage_ , and I want to know everything about it _immediately_ to determine if I, myself, am still _safe_ in a school that _loses their students_ in such a way. So, I ask again," she said, drawing breath, "were you a student here when you died?"

Myrtle stopped to look at Hermione closely.

"Yes," she said finally. "I died here."

" _Here?_ " Hermione asked, astonished. "In this bathroom?"

"Yes," said Myrtle. She sniffed. "I wouldn't have _chosen_ to haunt a toilet, you know."

"How did you die?" Harry asked. "Were you—were you attacked?"

Hermione elbowed him sharply, but Myrtle looked flattered.

"I _was_. It was dreadful," she told him with relish. "It happened right here. I remember it so well. I was hiding because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked and I was crying, and then I heard someone come in. They said something funny — a different language, I think, some made-up language. Anyway, what really got to me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then—" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I _died._ "

"What?" Harry said. " _How?_ "

"No idea," Myrtle said. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes, and my whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…" She refocused on Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses…"

Seeing great, big, yellow eyes that caused you to die wasn't something that rang a bell for Hermione, but it definitely didn't sound like a tragic accident. It was _possibly_ a case of tragic negligence, but still…

" _When_ did you die?" Hermione asked.

"Right after exams," Myrtle told her. "1943." She sniffed. "I never ever got to see my _marks_ _—!_ "

It was at this point Hermione observed the faded colors on Myrtle's uniform tie, the blue and bronze recognizable even when partially transparent.

"That's awful," Hermione told her genuinely. "I'm so sorry."

"Nobody even _missed_ me," Myrtle announced, tearing up. "It took them _hours_ to find my body. I should know — I was sitting here waiting for them to find me."

"Because a toilet's the first place you look for someone missing," Ron muttered.

Neville elbowed him sharply. "Ron!" he admonished, but Myrtle let out a wail.

" _Oh_ , you think it's funny, do you?" she cried. "Poor Moaning Myrtle, lost in a toilet, who no one missed enough to even look!"

She gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dove head first into a toilet, splashing water all over the place. Harry, Ron, and Neville all flinched, while Hermione wisely hid behind Ron, the tallest of the boys.

"So… she was a student here?" Neville ventured.

"She was killed exactly fifty years ago," Harry said slowly, "by a monster. You don't think— do we know if she's Muggle-born?"

"Not only was she a student here, but she was attacked and killed _on campus_ ," Hermione said vehemently. "Something like that _had_ to have made the news back then."

Ron groaned. "Does that mean we're going to the library?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Well, if _you'd_ rather entertain Moaning Myrtle all day…"

Hermione never thought she'd seen Ron move quite that quickly to get to the library ever before.


	113. Myrtle Warren

Moaning Myrtle, also known as Myrtle Warren, had died on June 13th, 1943. The _Daily Prophet_ covered the death, citing she had been attacked in a tragic accident by a loose monster on the grounds, and that the student responsible had been caught and expelled, but to protect the student from threats of harm, their identity would remain hidden.

The rest of the article went on to detail how when Myrtle's family had come to retrieve the body, they hadn't been able to properly see the castle, instead seeing a mound of moldering ruins. When the caretaker had finally bodily dragged them past the wards and they were able to see the castle, they both kept insisting that they were forgetting an urgent appointment, and that they were desperately needed somewhere else.

The article devolved into an argument about how Hogwarts ought to put in a system to allow the parents of Muggle-borns to visit the school without having the wards affect them, countered by the argument that muggles were still muggles and any exceptions made could become very dangerous. Hermione scanned the rest of the article before tossing it aside, highly annoyed.

There was next to no _actual_ information in the article, and the entire thing reeked of a cover-up. She handed the article to Harry, who read it over while Hermione scowled and sulked, her mind mulling things through to try and figure out what avenue to explore next.

"A loose monster?" Harry said aloud, his eyebrows raising. "I suppose that's one way to put it."

"It says they caught and expelled the student," Neville said, reading over Harry's shoulder. "But if that's true, why's it all happening again?"

"It's probably something unrelated then, isn't it?" Ron said, toying with a scrap of parchment. "A loose monster could be anything — Care of Magical Creatures class gone wrong, mistakenly-enchanted pet rampaging. Could even just be 'Hagrid', really, with his penchant for monsters. He had a _dragon_ last year, remember?"

There was a pause.

"Hagrid was expelled, wasn't he?" Harry asked.

There was a poignant pause.

Wide-eyed looks were exchanged.

"He was," Neville said faintly.

Hermione went running for the yearbooks while the boys broke out into animated hushed conversation. She returned shortly with the yearbooks for 1943 and 1944, and they flipped the one for 1943 open, crowding around.

They found him, hidden amongst the third years.

" _Rubeus Hagrid_ ," Harry read aloud. "Gryffindor."

Ron whistled, sitting back. "He never mentioned he was in Gryffindor," he remarked. "You'd think he'd have said something by now, wouldn't you?"

"He probably doesn't like to be reminded of being expelled," Neville said, looking uneasy. "I know I'd feel ashamed."

Hermione was already cracking open the yearbook for 1944, searching.

"He's gone in this one," she said, pushing it over. "He's not listed with the fourth years, or even with the third years, in case he got held back."

Harry looked uneasy.

"It could just be coincidence," he said. "Maybe more than one person got expelled that year."

Ron scoffed. "Expulsion is _rare_ , Harry. I doubt it."

"Is anyone else missing?" Harry asked, ignoring Ron.

Hermione leveled Harry with a look.

"Yes," she said flatly. "Myrtle Warren."

Harry winced.

"Look," Hermione said, pushing the books over. "You can go ahead and double-check to make sure no one else is missing. But if there's no one else missing, you have to agree that it's most likely Hagrid's the one they're talking about in the article."

"There's no way Hagrid would be the Heir of Slytherin, though," Harry protested.

"That's not what we're saying, mate," Ron said. "We're saying Hagrid's the one who was _blamed_ for it. Which means he might have information on who _actually_ did it."

Harry perked up a bit at that, and together they scanned the books, calling out different names to each other to cross-check.

"These photos all look funny," Ron said, tilting a book.

"They're autochrome," Hermione said automatically. "Color photography was different back then. Do you have Julia Norma?"

"Do you just know _everything?_ " Ron demanded.

"Got Julia Norma," Neville said, ignoring Ron.

"Alcina Pteryson?" Harry asked.

"Got her."

They went through the entire book, comparing names. As they went through, Hermione kept a careful eye on the Slytherins of each year. If it _had_ truly been an instance of the Chamber being opened fifty years prior, the Heir of Slytherin would be most likely to be in Slytherin. One of these students could be the culprit.

Unfortunately, there were a _lot_ of them, and though Hermione recognized many of the last names, they all started to blur together after a while.

"That's it," Harry said grimly, closing the yearbook. "The only students missing are Myrtle and Hagrid."

Hermione gave Harry a look, and Harry sighed.

"We'll go down and visit Hagrid on the weekend, okay?" he said. "We'll do it Saturday."

Hermione silently acquiesced. She'd want to put off confronting one of her friends about possible manslaughter, too.


	114. An Unusual Study Session

**A/N: This author's note will be deleted later. There are some new readers and couple concerns that have arisen. A few notes:**

 **1\. If you're using the FanFiction dot net app, I have _no_ control over what stories are recommended under mine. Apparently some plagarized ones have appeared at the end of New Blood. I don't get to choose what's recommended; trawl through my favorites for fics I would recommend instead.**

 **2\. I read and cherish every review! It's such fun to see people's reactions to things as they go through the story. I don't _respond_ to many reviews (unless you're signed in and ask a direct question), but do know that I appreciate them all. :)**

 **3.** ** **I update at least once a week, but generally twice, on Tuesdays and Fridays.****

* * *

The rest of the week Hermione spent working ahead on her homework assignments, wanting to leave her weekend as clear as possible. She invited Luna to come and work with her in the old Charms classroom, and Luna happily took her up on it, though Hermione was surprised to see she brought a friend.

"Hermione, this is Ginny Weasley," Luna said, smiling. "She's going to do homework with us today."

Ginny looked confused and wary, while Luna beamed. Hermione blinked.

"Pleased to see you again, Ginny," she said. "Ah— you need to catch up on homework too?"

"No, not really," Ginny said, faltering. "I mean, I _have_ homework, but I—"

"You need to be here," Luna said firmly, tugging Ginny to sit down. Ginny looked surprised, her large eyes darting to Hermione, who shrugged.

"If Luna says there's a reason, there's probably a reason," she said, offering a small smile. "Just probably not the one you'd expect."

They worked together, Hermione helping the two first years with their Transfiguration essays as she wrote her own. Luna asked most of the questions, Ginny still seeming skittish and somewhat frightened to be hanging around an older Slytherin girl. Hermione tried not to let it bother her—with a brother like Ron, she'd have been surprised if Ginny _wasn't_ skittish around her.

As they all finished up with their Transfiguration essays, Hermione stuffed her scroll away and went to pull out her History textbook, only to slip and drop it.

"Oh, bother…"

She bent down to get it, noticing something odd and pausing, before grabbing it and sitting back up. She looked at Luna for a long moment, who was sucking on the end of her quill and looking over her Charms homework.

"…Luna?"

Luna looked up. "Yes?"

"Why aren't you wearing any shoes?"

"Oh," Luna said. "They went missing."

There was a pause.

"They went _missing?_ " Hermione repeated.

"Yes," Luna nodded. "Lots of my things have gone missing, lately. Nargles, I suspect."

"Nargles," Hermione said flatly. She looked at Ginny sharply, who flinched. "Do you know any of these 'nargles'?" she asked.

Ginny looked uneasy.

"I don't know what a nargle is," she admitted. "But I know Sue Li and Lisa Turpin stole her hat last week."

Hermione stood up abruptly.

"Please excuse me," she said. "I find I forgot something. I'll be right back."

She strode off, Luna giving her an absent wave while Ginny stared after her. Hermione could hear her pulse thundering in her head as she went directly to the Slytherin common room, eyes rapidly scanning the room. They settled on a figure playing chess over by the lake window, a small crowd watching, and she walked over.

"Draco," she said. "We have a problem."

Draco glanced up at her, then did a double-take at her expression.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Luna is being harassed by some older Ravenclaws," she told him. "You said she was under our protection."

Draco looked uneasy, but Daphne gasped.

"The Seer?" she said, her eyes wide. She looked pale. "Oh, _no_. This is bad. An upset Seer can prophesize doom and _cause_ it to _manifest_. This is _awful_."

Theo gave her a sideways look. "They _can?_ "

"We have to do something," Daphne pleaded with Draco. "We promised her our protection."

Draco looked around.

"We _all_ promised her protection," he said finally. "Is everyone up for this?"

"I'll get the others," Theo said, hurrying off.

"I can't imagine Crabbe and Goyle will protest," Hermione said. "And I'd be seriously surprised if Blaise, Tracey, or Millie offered an objection."

"What about Pansy?" Draco asked.

Hermione turned to face Pansy, who had been sitting at the side silently, her arms crossed. As attention turned to her, she scowled.

"Who's harassing her, anyway?" she asked, examining her nails.

"Sue Li and Lisa Turpin," Hermione said. "Possibly a couple others. I don't have all their names yet."

Pansy's eyes flashed.

"Sue Li is the one who's always making snide comments about me looking like a pug," she said. She turned to Draco. "I would be _happy_ to help 'protect' this Luna girl, Draco."

As Theo returned with Blaise, Tracey, Millie, Greg, and Vince, Draco nodded. He turned to the newcomers.

"As a group, we offered Luna Lovegood, the Seer, our protection," he said. "That protection has been challenged by a group of Ravenclaws. Do we stand together to make them rue the day they ever crossed us and ours?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Follow me," Hermione directed, and she led them out of the common room and down the hall.

If Ginny's eyes had been wide with one Slytherin working peacefully with her, they grew even larger at the sight of ten second-year snakes filtering into the room. All the Slytherins nodded to her politely, then ignored her, which Ginny seemed happy with, scooting her chair as far away from them as she could. Theo closed the door behind them all, silently instructing Vince and Greg to stand guard.

"Miss Luna Lovegood," Draco pronounced. "It is my understanding that some students have decided to harass you. Is this correct?"

Luna looked up at him.

"Oh," she said. "Your hair is very pretty today. It's like mine."

Draco looked thrown, and Blaise snickered from somewhere behind him.

"Your things have been going missing, right?" Hermione gently prompted. "Your shoes, your hat?"

"Yes..." Luna nodded.

"What else has gone missing?" Daphne said, sinking into a chair next to Luna and offering her a kind hostess smile. "Maybe we can help you find your things."

"Umm." Luna considered. "My shoes, most of my socks, my cloak, my hat, my green ink bottle…"

As Luna began listing things, the list growing longer and longer and longer, it was as if the slowly-growing rage of Slytherin house was a palpable thing, hanging heavy in the air of the room.

"—and my raddish earrings," Luna finished. "I think that's it."

"Very good," Daphne said, nodding gently. "And who do you think might have taken your things?"

Luna frowned. "You mean it wasn't the nargles?"

"Sue Li and Lisa Turpin," Ginny volunteered suddenly. "They're in your year. In our year, Orla Quirke, Yutaka Amano, and Becky Arncliffe."

"And they're all in Ravenclaw?" Daphne asked, looking at Ginny, who flinched under her gaze.

"I think so," Ginny said. "But— I'm not a Ravenclaw, so it's only who I've seen teasing her and what I've overheard—"

"That's enough."

Draco stood. His face was dark with anger.

"We put you under our protection, Lovegood," he said. "Do you know what that means?"

Luna blinked up at him. "You'll help defend me from those who would do me harm?"

"Something like that," Draco admitted. "But mostly, now… it means that those who have done you wrong will face our wrath."

"Oh," Luna said. Her eyes brightened. "That sounds like fun."

Hermione smiled in satisfaction as Slytherin house got down to planning, occasionally asking Luna or Ginny a question as they did.

It was interesting to watch Ginny as they did. Her eyes were wide as she listened in on their brainstorming; first as they developed a plan to get Luna her things back, then as they made a plan to wreak vengeance on the culprits who had taken them in the first place. Hermione suspected that while Ginny had heard people make plots before (she _was_ sister to the Weasley Twins, after all, and crazy plotting seemed to be a hobby in Gryffindor), the _viciousness_ of the Slytherin methods was probably catching her off-guard.

"Then that's what we'll do," Draco said, sitting back. "Are we all agreed?"

A murmur of assent went up from their little contingent, and Draco nodded.

"Then we'll launch our plan soon," he said. "Part one will go into effect as soon as possible. Part two as soon as we can." He glanced to Theo and Hermione. "How long will that be?"

Hermione considered.

"Probably a month or two," she admitted. "We'll need to check."

"Are we okay with waiting a month?" Daphne said, looking worried. "That's quite a period of time to lapse."

"We can teach Luna some basic defensive spells in the meantime," Blaise suggested. "But this is a good plan. It'll get them back _good_ , this plan."

"Then it's settled." Draco looked up, his eyes settling onto Ginny, who shrank back. He looked disgusted, but he stood up and offered her a short bow.

"Miss Ginevra Weasley, if I'm not mistaken," he said. "A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance. I am Draco Malfoy."

"A pleasure," Ginny said automatically. "My brothers say you're evil."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And I suppose they say all Slytherins are evil and scummy and to be avoided at all costs, too?"

Ginny flushed a brilliant red. "Errr…"

Draco waved her off. "Regardless. Ginevra, I need your word that you will not breathe a word of what was discussed here today with anyone not present here in this room."

Ginny looked outraged.

"I wouldn't tattle on you!" she said fiercely. "Luna is my friend!"

"Good," Draco said. "Then it shouldn't trouble you to give your word, should it?"

Scowling, Ginny withdrew her wand, and Hermione watched as she made a vow to never speak, write, or communicate in any way of what she had heard to anyone not currently present in the room. A curl of gold came from her wand as she did, disappearing in a flash, and Draco nodded in satisfaction.

"At least one Weasley knows how to do things right," he said. He looked down at her, then to Hermione. "Is everything good, now?"

"It is," Hermione told him.

"Good."

The Slytherins filed out of the room one by one, with Blaise, Tracey, and Millie lingering behind.

"I understand you started your History essay without us, Hermione," Blaise pouted. "I'm hurt."

They began setting up their own study materials at the table, and Hermione watched in amusement as Ginny stared at them with suspicion, looking to Luna and her relaxed manner, before gradually untensing her body and focusing on her work once more.

By the end of the study session, everyone had their essays done, Millie and Ginny had gotten thoroughly sidetracked in a discussion about the World Cup, and Blaise had made Ginny blush a brilliant red no less than three times through his shameless flirting.

All in all, it was a good study session, Hermione considered, looking out over her friends and Ginny, who was now flustered and arguing with Tracey about something or other. She highly doubted Ginny would become a regular participant in such activities, but Luna's words lingered in her mind.

For whatever reason, Ginny had needed to be here today. Hermione would just have to have faith that whatever Ginny needed to have happen had occurred and hope for the best.


	115. Deception and Deceit

"I still don't see why we couldn't just ask Snape," Theo complained as they walked to class.

"We need to give Professor Snape plausible deniability," Hermione argued.

"If you insist…" Theo sniffed. "If this doesn't work, though, we're doing it my way this afternoon."

"It'll work," Hermione assured him, tossing her hair. "Just watch."

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a joke, as usual. Hermione got a sort of perverse enjoyment out of watching Harry act like a werewolf. She'd asked him to go along with Lockhart today, but neither of them had expected he'd have to get down on all fours and _howl_.

She winced as Lockhart physically pounced on Harry, holding him down and instructing him to "moan piteously", but luckily class ended shortly thereafter.

"Homework – compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!"

"We already had to _buy_ that book," Ron groused, helping Harry to his feet and out of the room. "What's the point in winning _another_ one?"

Harry gave Hermione an annoyed, resigned look as he hobbled from the room, and Hermione shot him a sheepish, grateful smile. She lingered as the classroom emptied out, Theo standing in the back of the room, arms folded.

"Err – Professor Lockhart?" Hermione said. She attempted to sound nervous and breathless – flattering his celebrity would only work in her favor. "I wanted to – to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out a piece of paper. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it – I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in _Gadding with Ghouls_ about slow-acting venoms–"

"Ah, _Gadding with Ghouls!_ " Lockhart said, taking the slip of parchment from Hermione and offering her a wide grin. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione enthused, wracking her brain for details. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with – err – with a tea strainer—"

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," he said warmly, pulling out an enormous peacock quill. He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione. "I look forward to seeing your poem!"

In the hallway, Hermione shot Theo a smug look.

"I can't believe it," Theo said. "He didn't even _look_ at the book you wanted."

"Did you think he would care what it was?" Hermione said, smirking. "It was an opportunity for him to sign something."

Even Theo cracked a smirk at that.

Madam Pince looked at Hermione suspiciously when she approached. Hermione offered her the note wordlessly, and the librarian took the note and examined it, holding it up to the light as if detecting a forgery. The note apparently passed the test, and she stalked away into the Restricted Section, returning a few minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book.

"The older students use that one from time to time," Madam Pince informed her, fixing her piercing eyes on Hermione. "No renewing that one for months on end this time, got it?"

Hermione flushed. "I understand."

She and Theo retreated to the dungeons before finally opening the book in the common room, taking advantage of the break before Potions in the afternoon. Draco, Blaise, and Tracey wandered over, curious.

"You got _Most Potente Potions?_ " Tracey said, impressed. "Really?"

Theo snorted. "Lockhart would sign anything that stood still long enough."

"Some of these look incredibly nasty," Blaise remarked, looking at the illustrations as Hermione paged through. "Is that man _inside out?_ "

"Found it," Hermione said, stopping on the page headed _The Polyjuice Potion_. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people, their faces grotesque and twisted with agony. "This looks complicated…"

"Powdered horn of a bicorn? Shredded boomslang skin?" Theo looked grim. "That's not going to be easy to get."

"Snape probably has it in his private stores," Draco remarked. "We could ask him."

"Yes, and tell him what, Draco?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "'Please, sir, give us these very rare and expensive ingredients without asking any questions'?"

Draco flushed and muttered something under his breath, and Hermione turned back to the book.

"This'll take about a month," she estimated. "We'll need fluxweed picked on the full moon and we'll have to stew the lacewing flies for twenty-one days."

"Will Luna be okay for that long?" Tracey said, uneasy.

"We'll make sure she's okay," Blaise assured her. "This is just for the intimidating overkill afterwards."

Tracey winced but sighed. "Alright."

"Let me borrow this," Draco said, tugging the book toward himself. "I'll give it back after class."

Hermione shrugged. "Be my guest."

Potions came later in the afternoon. Hermione and Theo spent the rest of the break searching for a home base of operations. They had found an abandoned Potions classroom deep in the dungeons they could use to brew in if they set up the right privacy spells, which they were quietly arguing about as they walked to class.

"It would be the most secure!" Hermione argued. "No one unauthorized could enter at _all_ , then!"

"I would rather us be caught brewing a forbidden potion than caught _using forbidden blood magic!_ " Theo hissed. "Are you _mad?_ "

Hermione sniffed. "It's not _forbidden._ It's just… extremely looked down upon."

"So is the potion," Theo pointed out. "It's not _forbidden_. It's just not _expected_ for second years to try and brew it."

Hermione made a face but let him have the point.

Potions class itself was unusual. Snape was having them brew an odd, unnamed potion that seemed, from Hermione's assessment, like it would be best used as a sort of magical torch fuel. As a result, the potions were all _extremely_ incendiary, and it seemed like the smallest of deviations caused fires and explosions. There were several during the class, mostly on the Gryffindor side of the room, and Theo and Hermione watched with astonishment as Snape swept around them, making cutting and cruel remarks.

"Why'd he assign _this_ potion?" Hermione wanted to know. "It isn't even in the _book_."

"He's _enjoying_ this," Theo said quietly. "Watch his eyes when he scolds the next one."

Hermione watched as Snape descended on Seamus and Dean with relish, his eyes glittering. As he looked away, he shot a dark glance back at another Gryffindor table, and realization struck Hermione.

"It's Quidditch tomorrow," Hermione said, eyes wide. "He's hoping Harry and Ron blow themselves up."

Incredibly, Theo began to laugh.

"Oh, that's devious," he said. "Make Potter unable to play because of poor school work? That's grand."

"Doesn't Slytherin already have incredible brooms that Lucius Malfoy bought or some such?" Hermione demanded. "Is jeopardizing everyone's health really necessary?"

"Necessary, no. Fun? Yes," Theo said, smirking. "And yes – Mr. Malfoy was very pleased when his son got on the team as seeker as a second year. He wasn't expecting him to succeed in the tryouts, and Draco had apparently made a bet with him to outfit the entire team if he got on."

"A bet? Hermione frowned. "What did Draco risk in the bet?"

Theo cast her a sideways glance. "Does it matter? He won, after all."

Hermione gnawed her lip but let the matter rest.

When class finally ended, it was to great sighs of relief. Everyone began cleaning out their cauldrons and putting them away, many students' robes stained with the results of their exploded potions.

"Professor Snape? Do you have a moment?"

Hermione glanced up from putting away her potions kit to see Draco at the front of the room. Curious, she moved to the supply closet, ostensibly putting away extra supplies, but putting herself into prime eavesdropping location.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco lowered his voice, and Hermione could only just catch it over the bustle of the classroom.

"I got this in a letter from my father," he said quietly. "He said to give it to you, and you'd be able to provide me with the necessary things."

Hermione peeked between the hinges of the supply closet door to see Draco hand Snape a piece of parchment. Snape scanned it and looked up at Draco sharply.

"Lucius Malfoy sent this to you to give to me?" he said. "Instead of sending it to me directly?"

"He doesn't trust your mail." Draco shrugged, uneasy. "I think he thinks Dumbledore is watching who sends you owls."

Snape gave Draco a long-searching look, before striding away in a billow of robes. Draco let out a breath of relief, his body releasing a bundle of bound-up tension, and he leaned slightly on Snape's desk as he waited. Hermione waited another moment to see if Snape returned, but he did not, and she made her way back to her desk to finish cleaning up and pack up her bag.

Draco was still lingering by Snape's desk as she left, curiosity mounting. Theo was waiting for her, one eyebrow raised. Hermione filled him in quietly as they walked back to the Slytherin common room.

"A letter from his father?" Theo said, contemplating. "It's possible. Lucius Malfoy's distrust of Dumbledore is legendary. I wonder why now, though?"

"You don't think…" Hermione bit her lip. "You don't think it has anything to do with what all's been going on, do you?"

"With the Heir of Slytherin, you mean?" Theo looked at her sideways. "The last time the Chamber was opened, it was long before Lucius' time at Hogwarts."

"That's not exactly an answer," Hermione pointed out, and Theo shrugged.

"I don't exactly _know_ an answer, Hermione," he told her pointedly. "Your observations are probably not dissimilar to my own."

Draco still had _Most Potente Potions_ , so Hermione and Theo contented themselves with arguing over a way to protect their abandoned classroom. They finally agreed on a strong Notice-Me-Not charm. Theo was confident in his ability to bribe an older Slytherin into casting it for him without asking questions, and he'd have them key both their wands into the charm so it wouldn't affect him or Hermione.

They were just discussing who was going to be the one to sneak out after curfew to pick the fluxweed when Draco loudly returned to the Common Room, holding a bundle wrapped tightly in white cloth, his eyes bright and smug.

"There," he said with satisfaction, setting the bundle dramatically on the table. "Look."

Giving him a skeptical look, Hermione carefully opened the bundle, not sure what to expect. But nothing jumped out at her – it was just a bunch of potions ingredients: knotgrass, leeches, fluxweed, lacewing flies…

"Oh, you're _brilliant_ ," Hermione breathed, holding up a glass container of carefully-measured boomslang skin. " _Brilliant_ , Draco."

Draco flushed, pleased, and Theo began to laugh.

"You got Snape to believe your father needed all these things?" he asked. "How did you forge a letter from Lucius?"

"Dictation quill," Draco said, smirking. "My father would never leave his handwriting on anything that might be potentially incriminating, and Snape knows it."

"This is _brilliant_ ," Hermione said, examining the powdered bicorn horn. "We can get started right away, now – no need to wait to pluck fluxweed after-hours."

"I thought you didn't think asking Snape would work," Draco said slyly, and Hermione laughed.

"I didn't," she said. "I didn't think of asking for _someone else_ as a ways to get what we needed."

"Ah, Hermione," Draco said, smirking, his eyes alight. "You're powerful and clever, but you have a lot to learn still about Slytherin cunning."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she offered him a slight half-smirk.

"I suppose I do," she admitted. "I suppose I do."


	116. The Rogue Bludger

Saturday dawned stormy and muggy, and Hermione was reluctant to allow Tracey to drag her along to Quidditch.

"It's Slytherin versus Gryffindor!" she insisted. "If there's one match you _can't_ miss, it's this one!"

Hermione spent breakfast wondering who she'd rather win – Slytherin, or Gryffindor. Slytherin would win, she was _hoping_ , but practically speaking, wouldn't Harry and Hagrid both be in a better mood to discuss Hagrid's expulsion after the game if Harry won?

She resolved that she'd cheer for Slytherin, regardless of what would be better. It's not like cheering for a team did much of anything, and she'd have been lynched for daring to consider cheering for Harry if anyone in Slytherin knew.

At eleven o'clock, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium, Gryffindor and Slytherin players peeling off to head for the locker rooms.

"Good luck, Draco!" Pansy called out after him as he pulled away, and Draco raised a half-hearted hand at her cheer as he headed off.

"Is it just me, or does Malfoy seem reluctant to put up with Pansy lately?" Millie asked.

Tracey snorted. "Can you blame him?"

"He always used to put up with it, though," Blaise mused. "He liked the attention, even if she is a clingy fright."

"When did it change, do you think?" Hermione asked. "Do you think around Pansy's troll blood incident?"

Millie considered. "Maybe…?"

The stadium was already roaring with noise by the time they arrived and took their seats. When the teams walked out onto the pitch, the cheers and boos were deafening. Flint and Wood were asked to shake hands, and it looked like they were silently trying to strangle the other's hand.

The players mounted their brooms, waiting for their signal.

"Tell me," Blaise murmured to Hermione. "Honestly — who do you think is going to win?"

Hermione bit her lip, before admitting, "Gryffindor."

Blaise gave her a look. "Even with Slytherin on Nimbus 2001's?"

"We've got the better brooms, but they've got the better players," Hermione said quietly. "And Harry's a Quidditch prodigy. I can't imagine him losing a match that he's able to play."

Blaise rolled his eyes but turned away, and the whistle blew.

The match started fast, and it was vicious. Already the Slytherin Chasers were fighting fairly dirty, cobbing wherever they could get away with it where Madam Hooch wouldn't see. They scored three goals fairly quickly before Hermione realized something odd was going on.

Harry was circling overhead, as usual, looking for the Snitch, but Fred and George Weasley were also flying high, looking furious as they swung their Beater's bats around.

"Is that Bludger chasing Harry?" Hermione said, incredulous. "Is it only going after him?"

Tracey turned to look. "Oh my…"

It _was_. The Bludger was only going after Harry, reversing course and trying its best to knock Harry off his broom. It had started raining, and Fred and George were so close to Harry to fend it off that it was a miracle they hadn't already crashed.

A moment later there was a whistle as Oliver Wood called a time out, and the Gryffindor team landed and huddled on the ground, the Slytherin team jeering. There looked to be fierce arguing on the ground, and Hermione bit her lip.

"They're going to have to call for an inquiry," Tracey said. "There's no way that Bludger wasn't tampered with."

"They won't," Hermione said, certain. "They'd have to forfeit the match to stop it in the middle, and there's no way Harry is going to risk that. He'd rather risk the Bludger than risk losing the match."

"Are you serious?" Blaise snorted. "Twisted priorities, that one's got."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not disagreeing."

The game resumed, the Gryffindor Beaters staying lower to the pitch now, playing with the one normal Bludger, now. Harry was on his own with the rogue Bludger, zigzagging and spiraling to dodge it as it came after him again and again. It was more obvious than ever that something was decidedly up as Harry swooped and rolled to avoid getting hit, and Hermione gnawed on her lip as she watched him, anxious.

"Oh, no," Blaise groaned from next to him. "Malfoy, _don't…_ "

Hermione watched as Draco flew by Harry, obviously yelling something at him as Harry had to do a stupid-looking sort of twirl in midair to avoid the Bludger. Draco was laughing, and Harry hung in the air a long moment, glaring at Draco.

He stayed still too long — Hermione watched as the Bludger smashed into his arm, and there was a sickening "ooh" from the crowd. A moment later, though, Harry dodged it coming at him again and sped directly toward Draco, his face fierce, and Draco went careening out of Harry's way.

"Is Potter attacking him?" Blaise said, aghast. "There's no way that's—"

"No," Hermione said as the whistle blew. "The Snitch. It was right behind Draco — he never even saw."

Incredibly, Blaise began to snicker as the Gryffindors cheered.

"Flint is _not_ going to be happy about this," Blaise said with relish. He didn't seem torn up about Slytherin's loss at all. "Oh, Malfoy is _not_ going to get off easy for this one."

Harry landed and collapsed on the ground in a dead faint, and Hermione stood to hurry through the stands to get to Harry. The crowds were thick, and by the time Hermione made it to the bottom of the stands and slipped out, Harry had been moved to the side of the field, still unconscious in the rain.

"I can help!" Lockhart was saying, waving his arms around. "When I was fighting the Wagga Wagga Werewolf—"

Hermione saw Harry shift and groan on the ground.

"Oh, no, not you," he moaned, and Hermione snickered.

"Doesn't know what he's saying!" Lockhart said loudly. "Not to worry, Harry—"

Hermione didn't know how to mend bones — she hadn't learned healing charms that advanced. Instead, she went over to the Weasley twins, who were wrestling with the rogue Bludger, trying to get it into a box. It was still fighting them, trying to get to Harry.

"Hermione!" George called. "A little help here!"

Hermione withdrew her wand, before she paused and considered.

"If I jinx it, and it's already been jinxed, it could explode," she said.

"And that would be a _bad_ thing, at this point?" Fred objected, struggling, and Hermione shrugged.

"It depends. Do you want to be able to trace who jinxed it or not?"

The Weasley Twins exchanged a glance.

"Try this," Hermione said. "George, can you take off your Quidditch robes while Fred holds it down?"

Following Hermione's instructions, the Weasley twins finally managed to capture the Bludger in George's muddy robes, swinging it around and twisting it into a bundle it couldn't struggle free from.

" _Finally._ " Fred gave the struggling bundle a dark look.

"How do we track down who cursed it?" George said. "Is that even possible?"

"Maybe?" Hermione said. "Probably? Hopefully? It'll require some investigation. Just keep the Bludger — everyone's too distracted to notice."

Indeed, there was a ruckus near Harry, and as George stashed his robes under Fred's, Hermione went over just in time to see Lockhart twirl his wand at Harry's arm.

Hermione watched in horror as Harry's arm seemed to deflate in front of her eyes, gasping along with the crowd. The Gryffindor first year was clicking away madly, taking photos.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind."

"Professor, maybe he should get to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione suggested. She pushed through the throng of people to help Harry to his feet. He looked woozy.

"An excellent idea, Miss Granger," Lockhart said, clapping his hands. "Madam Pomfrey will be able to— er— tidy him up a bit. Yes, please escort him… if you would excuse me…"

Hermione could tell the moment Harry looked at his arm; he staggered in her arms.

"What did he—" Harry breathed. "Hermione, I can't feel anything—"

"He didn't mend your bones," Hermione told Harry. "He removed them."

Harry looked horrified.

"Let's be glad he at least was only aiming at your arm and not your chest, yes?" Hermione said pleasantly. "Now, Harry, if you stay still for just a moment — I just so happen to know a charm designed for moving bodies through the air…"


	117. Investigating the Bludger

Hermione eventually got Harry to the Hospital Wing. She was mortified to have Harry flip upside-down by his ankle the first time she tried the _Levicorpus_ charm, but the second time she managed it, guiding him carefully through the halls.

"What kind of charm defaults to a prank charm?" Hermione despaired.

Harry seemed kind of weakly amused by the entire thing.

"You managed to make it work with the right intent the second time," he said. "So what's it matter?"

"Yes, but just the flat casting of it without intentionally trying to modify the result…" Hermione shook her head. "What a ridiculous charm."

Once they arrived, Madam Pomfrey was not amused.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of Harry's arm. "I can mend bones in a second — but growing them back—"

"You will be able to, won't you?" Harry worried.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," Madam Pomfrey said grimly. "You'll have to stay the night…"

Hermione excused herself, wishing Harry a speedy recovery as she left so he could change. The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was waiting outside the Hospital Wing with Ron and Neville, and Hermione offered them all a weak nod.

"Give him a few more minutes," she advised. "He's changing and he's got to take Skele-Gro, first."

"Fair enough," one of the Gryffindor Chasers said, shrugging and leaning against the wall. "That was incredible flying. The least we can do after he won us the match is wait."

"Miss Slytherin," Fred said. He smirked. "There's a package waiting for you in the Ravenclaw common room."

"The _Ravenclaw_ common room?" Hermione said incredulously.

"It's not like we could trust the Slytherins to leave it with them," George said lazily. "I don't want their scaly hands all over my Quidditch robes…"

Hermione understood his meaning immediately.

"Thanks," she said. "I'll be sure to pick that up soon."

She swung by the library first, checking out few books on identifying jinxes and neutralizing them. Madam Pince seemed surprised to see anyone in the library on a Quidditch day, but she let Hermione check the books out easily enough. Hermione headed up to the Ravenclaw common room afterward, the eagle knocker blinking bronze eyes at her.

"The more you take, the more you leave behind," it told her, and Hermione paused to consider.

"Footsteps," she said after a moment, and the knocker nodded and pushed open the door.

In the Ravenclaw common room students were studying in small groups scattered around the area. The view of the storm was incredible from their high windows, and Hermione felt a stab of jealousy for the open, airy beauty of their tower.

"Hermione," Luna said happily, and Hermione turned. "We have a package for you!"

Hermione headed over to Luna, who was sitting with Mandy Brocklehurst and Terry Boot, a large box on their table.

"Hello," Hermione greeted them.

"I'm glad you're here," Terry said. "The Weasley Twins left this with us. They said it was top secret, and that you would know what to do with it."

"I'm not entirely sure what to do with it, but I'll certainly _try_ ," Hermione said, taking a seat. "It's the cursed Bludger that went after Harry."

Terry's eyes widened. "Are you going to cast the counter-curse?"

"If I can," Hermione shrugged. "More than that, I want to figure out _who_ cursed it."

"I don't think that's possible."

Hermione turned to see Anthony Goldstein taking a seat next to her, giving her a wry grin. Michael Corner was with him, sitting at his right.

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"Tracking magical signatures is a vague and iffy business," Anthony said. "Most research indicates it's not possible. The most you can generally get is a vague wand core signature, if even that."

Hermione considered.

"Let's un-jinx it first," she said finally. "Then we'll work on identifying the magic source behind it."

When they opened the box, the Bludger inside was still struggling within the robes, but much less frantically.

"Do you think Potter not being nearby has reduced its anger?" Terry asked.

"I'd guess as much," Hermione said. "Maybe it'll be easier to tie down, now…"

Michael Corner went running and returned with several belts. With a couple Extension Charms, they carefully belted the Bludger to the table, examining it as it struggled weakly under the leather.

"I've never heard of a hex to target a Bludger at someone," Anthony said. "Quidditch equipment generally has a lot of anti-hexing charms on them."

"That's true." Hermione frowned. "I wonder…"

She cast _Finite Incantantem_ at the Bludger, to no effect, and she smiled grimly.

"Too strong?" Terry guessed. "The stronger the spell, the harder it is to dissipate—"

"Oh, it wasn't too strong," Hermione said. "I could feel the spell settle. It's just not relevant, here."

The Ravenclaws looked at her curiously.

"What do you mean?" Mandy asked. " _Finite Incantantem_ stops spells from working."

"Exactly," Hermione said. "Which means this isn't a spell."

Eyes widened in comprehension.

"So what is this?" Terry breathed, examining the Bludger closely. "You think a targeting potion made with Potter's hair in it?" He sniffed it deeply. "It doesn't _smell_ like a potion…"

"It probably smells like mud," Michael Corner scoffed. "The Weasleys were wrestling with it on the ground for ages."

Hermione considered.

"Luna," she said finally. "Can you tell anything about its aura?"

Luna blinked up at her.

"I can try," she said. "I'll have to touch it, though."

"Be careful," Hermione advised.

Luna climbed onto the table, sitting down next to the Bludger. She laid her hand on it carefully, avoiding the belts.

"Shh, shh," she whispered to the Bludger. "It's okay… you can stop fighting now… you've done so well…"

They all watched on in astonishment as the Bludger stopped struggling under Luna's touch. Hermione had been expecting Luna to look at the Bludger and find a color, not talk to it as if it were a child.

"It was a normal Bludger," Luna pronounced. "A geas was laid over it to hurt or maim Harry Potter recently."

Hermione's eyes widened. "A geas? Not a compulsion charm?"

Terry frowned. "What's the difference?"

"A geas," Luna confirmed, petting the Bludger. "One from someone close to home."

"Got it." Hermione bit her lip, considering. "Thanks, Luna."

Luna continued petting the Bludger for a while, while Hermione turned to Terry.

"A geas is a magical compulsion or curse, similar to the Imperius curse or a Compulsion charm," Hermione said. "But the difference is a geas is laid _over_ an object or a person, not cast upon them."

Terry looked at her blankly. "And...?"

"Don't you get it?" Hermione said. "Wizards' magic is cast _upon_ things. It's not witches or wizards that lay magic over things—it's other magical creatures who do."

Anthony whistled. "So you think the goblins are after Potter?"

"Goblins lay magic _in_ things, generally, not over things," Hermione mused, reaching out to stroke the Bludger with a finger. "As far as I know, it's the elves who lay magic _over_ things."

"You think a House Elf bewitched this Bludger?" Terry said. " _Really?_ "

"Who knows?" Hermione said. Her finger caught on something on the Bludger, and she rubbed her finger over the rough patch, but it wouldn't come off. "I've no idea how to track elf magic, but it's a lead, at least."

"Who all has House Elves they could instruct to do such a thing?" Mandy wondered, and the Ravenclaws began brainstorming as Hermione leaned closer, examining the Bludger's surface. There were markings scratched into the surface in one area.

 _BD00458796X_

"We could ask the castle's elves if they've noticed any strange elves lurking around?" Michael was suggesting.

"I don't know why you'd think they'd answer us honestly," Terry said. "They're more likely to band together to protect one of their own, aren't they?"

"I have a better idea," Hermione announced. She shifted the weakly-struggling Bludger under its straps so the numbers on it were more evident.

"What's that?" Mandy asked, peering.

"It's a serial number." Hermione smiled. "Each one is entirely unique. This time, we'll track the culprit the Muggle way."


	118. Haranguing Hagrid

Hermione sent owls off that evening to the Quidditch shops in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, inquiring about the serial number. She was hoping the Bludger was sold in the UK; she didn't know where to look otherwise.

The next morning, Hermione got up early to visit Harry, only to be stopped and stonewalled by Professor McGongall at the door.

"No one is allowed in, Miss Granger," she said sternly. "No one needs to go in and gawk at the poor boy."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"I'm not here to gawk at him," she objected. "I brought him some breakfast and a book."

"Breakfast?" McGonagall frowned.

"Yes...?" Hermione said, questioning. "I imagine regrowing bones would be hungry work…"

"Oh!" Understanding lit the professor's eyes. "I see, I see. I had thought… but you're in Slytherin, aren't you? Of course…" She muttered to herself, frowning at Hermione, before giving her a sigh. "Go in and see Mr. Potter, then. He's in the bed on the left."

She ushered Hermione through with a kind look in her eyes, leaving Hermione wondering exactly what was going on. She didn't have to wonder long — Harry was awake, sitting up, and his face crumpled with relief when he saw her.

"Hermione!" he said, gesturing her forward. He lowered his voice. "You'll never _believe_ what has happened…"

Hermione shared her breakfast with Harry as he recounted the events of the previous night to her.

"Petrified?" Hermione whispered, a cold shiver going through her. Harry nodded grimly.

"Colin was frozen with his camera to his face," Harry said. "When they opened it to take out the film, it was _melted_."

"And Dumbledore said it meant that the Chamber of Secrets is open again?" Hermione repeated.

"Yes," Harry said. "He also said the question was not 'who,' but 'how,' too."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"That means he knows who did it the first time," she breathed. "Harry, Dumbledore _knows_ who it is."

"But then why isn't he doing anything?" Harry argued. "And 'how'? Maybe the Heir of Slytherin is dead, and Dumbledore doesn't know how it's being opened this time."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I don't know," she said. "But Harry — as soon as you're better, we _need_ to talk to Hagrid."

Harry looked reluctant, but he nodded.

"As soon as we can," he agreed. "After I get the all-clear from Madame Pomfrey."

"If not for that damned Bludger, we could have done it yesterday," Hermione groused, and Harry's eyes widened.

"The Bludger! I can't believe I nearly forgot!" he said, clapping his good hand to his forehead. "Hermione, listen: last night, I had a visitor…"

Hermione listened in astonishment as Harry recounted the story of a House Elf's visit to him in the middle of the night.

"He wanted me to miss the train," he said vehemently. "He closed the barrier. And he said that it was his Bludger, too. He's trying to get me to go home, to save my life."

"This 'Dobby' is the one who got you in trouble at your uncle and aunt's?" Hermione frowned. "You've met him before?"

"Yes," Harry said. "But listen — he said that the Chamber of Secrets was open once more, and that history was about to repeat itself. He kept going on about how Dark deeds were planned, and how I needed to go home to be safe."

"I believe him about the Bludger," Hermione said with a sigh. "Luna and I figured out yesterday that it was an elf who laid an enchantment on the Bludger to go after you. I just didn't know which elf, or how to track a particular one down. But this business about the elf knowing in advance about this Chamber of Secrets business… this doesn't bode well."

"His owner must be the one behind it!" Harry said. "We just have to figure out whose he is."

"That's not likely to be easy," Hermione warned. "I highly doubt the testimony of a House Elf would be admissible as evidence, at any rate."

Harry deflated at that. "I guess…"

"We'll talk to Hagrid as soon as you're better," Hermione said decisively.

"If you get out of the way, that might be sooner than you thought, Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey said, bustling over. She examined Harry's new arm, bending and stretching the arms and fingers.

"All in order," she said, fixing him with a discerning look. "When you've finished eating, you may leave."

Hermione had never seen Harry eat so fast before.

* * *

Harry wanted to get Ron and Neville from the Gryffindor common room before heading to Hagrid's. "They might think of something we wouldn't," he argued. "Besides, we originally had all said we'd go together."

Hermione had acquiesced on the condition Harry got them _now_ , and it was with a curious Neville and still-eating Ron that they headed down to Hagrid's hut, Harry briefing them on the way.

"I can't believe the monster got _Colin_ ," Ron said, munching on a muffin. "He's so _harmless_."

"He's Muggle-born, though," Neville said, uneasy. "And he was out alone after hours."

Luna's warning of _don't go anywhere alone_ echoed through Hermione's mind, but she bit her lip and kept quiet.

"He's a Muggle-born?" Hermione said instead. "How do you know that?"

Ron gave her a confused look.

"He told us?" he said. "He was excited about sending his parents photos that moved. Muggle photos don't move, he said, and he thought they'd think they were fun."

Life in Gryffindor was so staggeringly different from life in Slytherin that it boggled Hermione at times. She could _never_ imagine mentioning her Muggle parents just casually in the Slytherin common room. She often pretended her parents didn't exist in front of her classmates. Even Tracey never mentioned her Muggle father, and she was a halfblood.

"Okay," Harry said, pausing on Hagrid's stoop. He leveled them all with sharp looks. "This is going to be hard and awkward and painful as it is. Let's try to be nice about it and give Hagrid the benefit of the doubt, okay?"

"Sure, mate," Ron said, bewildered. "It's not like any of us think Hagrid is actually the Heir of Slytherin, here."

" _Still_ ," Harry said. "Be _nice_."

He knocked sharply on Hagrid's door, which creaked open a minute later.

"Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Good ter see you! And Ron an' Neville too! And 'ermione, right? The Slytherin one? Come on in! Just put the kettle on…"

They filed into Hagrid's hut, settling around the table as Hagrid made tea and played host.

"I got some rock cakes that I made not too long ago here — got them somewhere here—"

Hermione gave Harry a look, who ignored it. Instead, Harry asked Hagrid how he'd been, and engaged in perfectly polite small talk with him about classes and Quidditch for the better part of a quarter of an hour.

Intellectually, Hermione knew the purpose of doing so here — it put Hagrid at ease, made him feel like he was amongst trusted friends, and would make him more likely to open up when they did start asking questions. Emotionally, though, Hermione was having a hard time not getting annoyed. This was one time she would have preferred the usual Gryffindor bluntness — go in and demand to know what was going on. Harry had a Slytherin streak of his own at times, though, and since Hagrid was his friend, she had to follow his lead.

But Hermione would have preferred outright intimidation. Hagrid could make pointless small talk for _hours._

After Ron and Harry whined about the Slytherins' new brooms for a while, Hermione cleared her throat pointedly, causing Harry to flush and sit up, remembering himself.

"Right," he said, rubbing his head. "Anyway, Hagrid, after Quidditch yesterday when I was in the Hospital Wing…"

He relayed the story of Colin Creevey being found on the stairs and what happened when his camera was opened. Hermione watched Hagrid closely. Hagrid looked confused and then pale, his hands holding his tea cup trembling somewhat.

"Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets, Hagrid?" Ron asked. "They say it's been open before."

"If Dumbledore says it's been opened before, it probably has," Hagrid equivocated. "Nothin' much gets past Dumbledore."

"Were you there when it was opened before?" Harry asked. "You've been at Hogwarts so long."

Hagrid shifted uneasily. "I wouldn't know nothin' 'bout that—"

His lies hung heavy in the air, and Hermione gave Harry a dark look.

"Are you sure, Hagrid?" Harry pushed. "You never heard any rumors—"

"We know you were expelled for the death of Myrtle Warren," Hermione interrupted.

There was immediate, shocked silence following her pronouncement.

Hermione carefully surveyed her companions. Ron was glaring at her, but Hermione raised her eyebrows and moved on, uncaring. Neville looked shocked and uneasy, while Harry merely looked exasperated and resigned, whereas Hagrid…

She blinked.

Hagrid had gone pale — _dangerously_ pale, as if he were about to faint or had hypothermia. His hand was shaking so badly he was sloshing his tea all over his lap, but he didn't seem to notice the scalding hot liquid seeping through his pants in the slightest. Instead, his eyes were on her, large and afraid.

It was odd, to realize that such a large man was afraid of _her_ , all because of something she knew.

Well, she mused, they did say 'Knowledge is Power,' after all.

"We know you were blamed and expelled for her death," Hermione said. "We know you were found with a monster, and they blamed her death on it."

"But we know you didn't mean it, Hagrid!" Ron butted in. "We know it was an accident, and that it wasn't supposed to happen—"

"I DIDN'T DO IT!" Hagrid roared.

His tea cup shattered in his hand, and Hagrid had gone from pale and frightened to ruddy and flushed with rage.

"Them lyin' bunch o' snakes, they said it were Aragog who killed tha' poor girl, but it wasn't him," Hagrid said angrily. "They kicked me outta school, even tho' they all knew it wasn't me that did it."

"Aragog?" Harry repeated. "What's Aragog?"

"He was my pet, back in school," Hagrid said petulantly. "An' he was harmless. Sweet thing, he was. Wouldn'ta hurt a fly."

"What type of creature was he?" Neville asked.

"Acromantula," Hagrid said.

Hermione gaped at him. "You had an _acromantula_ inside the castle?!"

"He was jus' a baby!" Hagrid objected.

The boys exchanged a confused look.

"What's an acromantula?" Harry asked.

"Oh," Hagrid said. "Giant spider. They get real big when they're grown, maybe the size o' a large horse? Can get up to fifteen foot in leg span, I think. But when I had him, he was just a titchy little thing, on'y about three, four foot in leg span then…"

Ron looked horrified.

"'Wouldn't have hurt a fly' indeed…" he muttered.

"What color were his eyes, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.

"Err," Hagrid said. "Black, I think? Spider-colored. They kinda glint in the light."

"You still have him?!" Ron shot to his feet. He looked around wildly. "Where? _Where?_ I'm not staying around here if there's a giant spider—"

"No, no, it's alright! He's deep in the forest!" Hagrid protested, looking alarmed. "He ran away after we got caught — he's been hiding out there for years, now!"

Hermione looked over at Harry.

"Black eyes," she said simply. "Not yellow."

Harry took a deep breath and seemed to relax.

"Hagrid," he said. "We know Aragog didn't kill anyone. We believe you."

Hagrid stopped trying to calm down Ron, who was perched on top of the sofa and looking wildly around the room for giant spiders. Hagrid looked confused.

"Yeh do?" he asked.

"We do," Harry said patiently. "We know it wasn't you. You were framed."

"O' course I was framed!" Hagrid said loudly. "Like Aragog ever coulda killed anybody…"

Hermione very carefully did not mention the amount of venom acromantulas could produce, nor how virulent of a neurotoxin it was.

"How were you framed, Hagrid?" she asked instead. "Who caught you?"

Hagrid scrunched his face up.

"Ah, it was one o' the Slytherin prefects a' the time," Hagrid said. "I was tryin' to sneak Aragog outta the castle — he was going nuts, running around squealing all the time. I think he was scared o' the monster himself — anyway, I was tryin' ter sneak him outta there, and a prefect caught me. Said he'd have to take me in, that someone had died, that he couldn't turn a blind eye any longer."

Hagrid winced and looked down.

"I shouldnta had Aragog in the castle at all," he said, somewhat miserably. "If I'da just tried to raise him outside behind the green houses instead… Dumbledore tried to defend me, but Dippet said I had to go…"

Neville made a half-hearted attempt at comforting Hagrid over his lost monster pet, but Hermione tuned them out, dwelling on Hagrid's words. Something wasn't adding up.

Hagrid had been in _Gryffindor_. No _Slytherin_ prefect would ever turn a blind eye to something a _Gryffindor_ did unless they had a good reason as to why. For a prefect to _know_ Hagrid had a monster, and not say anything until it suited them…

"Hagrid," Hermione said. "Do you remember the name of the prefect who caught you?"

Hagrid turned to look at her, wrenching his face up.

"Err, somethin' borin'," he said. "It weren't a pureblood name, I remember, 'cause I had that thought, in case he were the heir o' Slytherin…"

"What _was_ it?" Hermione pushed. "Think back to that night. You're sneaking out of the castle, lugging Aragog in his cage, and a Slytherin prefect steps out of the shadows to stop you. What was his name?"

"Err…" Hagrid said. "...Tom, I think? Maybe Tim? I don' remember a last name — it was fifty years ago, realize."

It was something, at least, Hermione conceded. It was at least enough to have a starting point.

"When this happened last time, Hagrid? Was it the same?" Neville asked. "Did people get petrified?"

"Yeah, one," Hagrid said. "A Hufflepuff boy was found petrified in the dungeons. He was practicin' potions — found with his potion all knocked over on the floor, all silvery an' glittering. They eventually woke him up, but he'd hit his head or summat, an' he didn't remember what had attacked him."

"How did people know the Chamber of Secrets had been opened?" Harry pushed. "Did someone write it on the wall in blood?"

"I dunno," Hagrid said. "I just remember everyone sorta knowin' about it. The Slytherins were all whisperin' about it being reopened. I didn't pay that much attention to what was goin' on…" He frowned. "Wish I had. Coulda defended myself better if I had."

Harry and Neville reassured Hagrid that he would have had no way of possibly knowing he would be blamed for it and not to be too hard on himself. Gradually Hagrid started to cheer up a bit, and they thanked him for his help and gathered themselves up to leave.

Hermione gave Hagrid an evaluating look as Harry gave him a hug.

"Hagrid," she said, and the giant man looked to her, blinking.

"Yes?"

"I know you say Dumbledore believes you, but if these attacks keep happening, eventually it won't be up to Dumbledore anymore," she said. "If you were blamed before, you're the first one they'll lay the blame on this time and come for."

Hagrid's eyes grew large.

"Come for me?" he rasped. "You don' think — not Azkaban...?"

"If I were you," Hermione said, "I'd have an escape plan ready."


	119. Rearrangement

Although Lockhart's class remained Hermione's least favorite, History of Magic was a close second. Binns' droning on and on was entirely useless and bored her to tears. She spent the class generally reading something entirely unrelated in the back or practicing complicated Transfigurations on her desk.

Binns' ineptitude was a frequent cause of frustration in the Slytherin common room. Not only was his class boring, but he didn't cover any _new_ history – nothing from the 20th century at all, if the seventh years were to be believed. Slytherins as a whole were very annoyed by this. If their classmates learned the truth about the rise of Voldemort, they felt, and how _everyone_ had been terrified and scared, how it hadn't only been Slytherins who became Death Eaters, then they wouldn't be treated so unfairly by the other houses. But without the topic being formally covered in the curriculum, the only facts their classmates tended to learn was byword of mouth from their parents, most of whom didn't convey complete and accurate information.

Hermione had seen from Muggle history how important it was to know your history, lest you be doomed to repeat it. And Hogwarts not teaching the history of the world's most recent Dark wizard seemed to bode poorly, almost like a bad omen hanging over them all.

Binns' class today was on one of the goblin rebellions again – this time, wizards had seized a gold mine under goblin control, and then seemed surprised when the goblins weren't okay with that. That wasn't how Binns was spinning the story, of course – the wizards were the hero in his version, who fought off the greedy and jealous goblins – but Hermione could read between the lines.

She tuned him out and pulled out the 1943 yearbook that she'd checked out from the library, idly paging through it and looking for clues. Harry and the others hadn't wanted to go back to the library, and she'd had too much homework left to get ahead on to really look at it yet. Binns' class was as good as any.

Myrtle Warren had been in her 5th year when she died, just after her O.W.L. exams. Hermione sighed, looking at her picture. It was tragic.

Her eyes scanned the page, taking in Myrtle's classmates absently and lingering over the Slytherins before she paused over a photo of a particularly good-looking boy.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ , the picture caption read.

She considered. Hagrid had said the prefect had been called Tom, hadn't he?

She flipped to the front of the book, scanning. There, with the photos of clubs and the like – there was a photo of all the prefects together. There weren't names under the photo, save for the Head Girl and Head Boy, but there was a mess of around two dozen people all crowded together. Hermione peered down carefully, scanning for green-tinted ties until she found the good-looking boy from before. She flipped back to the 5th years to double check.

Tom Riddle had been a prefect in his 5th year, the same year as Myrtle. It was probably him who had run into Hagrid, Hermione surmised. To be sure, she checked the 6th and 7th years for other boys named 'Tom'. She found one other possibility, a 6th year called Thomas Casper, but he wasn't in the photo with the prefects.

So. Tom Marvolo Riddle, she mused.

Who was he?

Hermione absently sketched his name at the top of a sheet of paper, idly writing down things she knew as her mind wandered.

 ** _Tom Marvolo Riddle  
_** _Possible Heir of Slytherin?_

 _Facts:_

 _• 5_ _th_ _year Slytherin prefect_

 _• Caught Hagrid with acromantula, knew about it in advance_

 _• Students had rumors of the Chamber of Secrets being opened_

 _• One student petrified in 1943, one student died_

 _• This year: one student petrified and one cat petrified  
_ _○ C_ _an cats be Muggle-born?_

 _• Monster has glowing yellow eyes_

She trailed off.

That was all she really knew, wasn't it?

She gnawed at her quill as she considered, doodling a giant spider in the top margin of her parchment, hovering ominously over Tom Riddle's name. She added large hairy legs to cage in his name, so the words couldn't escape, and drew giant fangs dripping with venom and way too many eyes.

She smirked at her drawing, before adding a crude drawing of Ron running away, fleeing to the safety of the side margin.

The bell rang, and everyone began gathering up their things. Hermione hurriedly grabbed her parchment to stuff into her bag before stopping short, staring at it.

"You okay, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Blaise, who was raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she told him. "I'll be along in a minute."

Blaise shrugged and left, and Hermione waited until Binns had disappeared through the blackboard and the classroom was empty to pull her parchment back out, smoothing it out on the desk, examining it.

One of the legs from the acromantula that had caged in Tom Riddle's name had landed in the thin space between his middle and last name. As she'd shoved it into her bag and it folded, her eyes for a moment had read "Marvold" instead of "Marvolo".

Marvolo was a very _unusual_ name, wasn't it?

And even if it was just a hunch...

Well, it was worth examining, wasn't it?

Hermione carefully penned _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ in the middle of her page once again, before beginning to cross out letters.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle_

 _/om /a/ Ri/dl/_

 _Voldemort_

You _could_ get 'Voldemort' out of his name, she realized. She wasn't just imagining things.

Hermione rewrote the letters she had left underneath, sucking on the end of her quill.

OM A RIDL

This time she paused for a long moment, rearranging things.

OMARIDL

IROAMDL

AMORDIL

IAMORDL

LORDMIA

She stopped.

 _/m /a/ /i/_

 _Lord Voldemort_

Then, all that was left…

 _/ / /_

 _I am Lord Voldemort_

Hermione stared at the parchment for a long moment.

Part of her felt it was too easy. It almost left her incredulous – anagrams of names were something out fiction books, not something people _actually did._ Hermione had read _Carmilla_ and _The Last Vampire_ one summer, where the idea that vampires just rearranged the letters in their names each 'lifetime' they lived was a prevalent one, and 'Alucard' had been the most obvious alias for 'Dracula' she had ever seen.

She remembered it in particular because she'd been ten at the time, and she had spent the afternoon trying to come up with her own new vampire name, to no particular success ('Imogene H.R. Ranger' and 'Germaine Rhonger' had been her best options, neither of which she had particularly liked).

But for _Lord Voldemort_ to do the same thing?

 _Well_ , Hermione thought. _If he was only a fifth year when he came up with this name…_

As far as names went, it was pretty good, too. She was pretty sure 'Voldemort' meant 'flight of death' or something similar in French, which seemed pretty solid for a Dark Lord-type name.

But _still_ …

She looked at her parchment, musing.

If Tom Riddle _was_ Lord Voldemort…

Well. That would certainly clear up Dumbledore's ambiguous statement of "The question is not _who_ , but _how_ " nicely, too.


	120. Potions, Parleying, and Protection

Brewing the Polyjuice Potion with Theo Nott was interesting. It felt almost like it should be a chore, Hermione thought, with how often it had to be minded, but it was fascinating — though she suspected that she might find _anything_ to do with magic fascinating in some way.

The potion required them to check on it periodically and add new things or stir, and they both went to mind it each time it was required. As a security measure, the prefect they'd drafted to help had added that both of their wands needed to be there for anyone to get through the now-hidden doorway, and Hermione had felt reassured by the extra protection. The prefect had demanded a favor of Theo as payment, though Theo hadn't said what it was.

"We just let it stew now," Theo said, satisfied as the potion hissed and burbled. "We should probably stir it once a day or so, to make sure it's being heated evenly, but I think we're pretty much done."

"Excellent," Hermione said, pleased. "It'll be done in no time at all."

They started picking up their things.

"I'm still glad we were able to find this room to brew in," Theo said. "I wasn't looking forward to having the boys' bathroom smelling like rotten seaweed for a month."

"Me too," Hermione agreed. She paused. "…do you think the Chamber of Secrets might be like this?"

Theo turned to look at her sharply. "Like what?"

"Hidden like this," Hermione said. "Requiring a specific wand or wands to reveal, maybe?"

Theo shrugged.

"I think wherever it is, the Chamber probably requires a blood sacrifice to get inside," he admitted. "Legend says that only Slytherin's heir would be able to open the chamber and unleash the horrors within. The only thing that could verify the true heir would be the right bloodline."

"That makes a lot of sense," Hermione said, frowning. He was probably right. "Theo, did Vol— did the Dark Lord ever have any children?"

Theo froze.

"That's an interesting question," he said, his voice deceptively casual. "What makes you ask that?"

"If the Dark Lord opened the Chamber the last time while he was still in school, then his descendant would be the new Heir," Hermione explained. "It could indicate who's behind this."

"What makes you think the Dark Lord opened the Chamber last time?"

Hermione looked at Theo, frowning. His face was like stone, utterly neutral.

"Let's say it's hypothetical," she said. "It seems reasonable to guess that the Dark Lord might be the Heir of Slytherin. So — did he?"

Theo made a face. "Not to my knowledge, at least," he said. "I think if he had an heir, I'd have heard of it by now."

Hermione carefully didn't react to that, but she did pause.

"Theo, may I ask you something personal?" she asked.

Theo gave her a sharp look.

"You can ask, but it doesn't mean I'll answer," he said warningly. "And I'll want something in return."

Hermione paused. "What would you want?"

"It depends on what you'd ask," Theo shot back. "Are you going to ask or not?"

Hermione considered. She was fairly sure she knew the answers to the questions she wanted to ask anyway, but she really wanted the confirmation. And it could be interesting to see what other information Theo let drop, as well as what Theo might want from her.

"Your father," she said finally. "Thoros Nott. What year did he graduate Hogwarts?"

Theo's eyes flashed.

"1946," he said tightly. "Is that all?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"And… he was one of the original Death Eaters?"

"That's quite the accusation," Theo shot back immediately. "What gives you the right to malign my family in that way?"

"Knock it off, Theo," Hermione said, annoyed. "You can protest all you want to assuage your obligation to defend your family's honor, but it's common knowledge that your father was a Death Eater."

"While that may have been," Theo sniffed, "that's very different than being accused of being one of the _original_ Death Eaters. Death Eaters in general are the Dark Lord's followers; the original ones are those who helped launch him into power."

"So if caught, they'd receive worse sentences?" Hermione guessed.

"My father resides in Nott Manor, Granger," Theo said, eyes narrowed. " _Not_ Azkaban."

Hermione sighed. "And yet, your father was friends with the Dark Lord in Hogwarts."

Theo's reaction was immediate — he moved toward her quickly, grabbing her arm and pushing her up against a wall, his eyes fierce. Hermione panicked, sudden fear gripping her as Theo snarled at her.

" _What makes you say that?"_ Theo hissed at her. " _How do you know such a thing?_ "

"You're hurting me—!" Hermione protested, tugging at her arm.

Theo glared at her but let up on her a little, his fingers not digging in quite as hard.

"Well?" he demanded. He looked _furious._

Hermione took several deep breaths to calm herself. Theo grabbing her had shaken her, and she needed a moment to settle down.

Suppressing the immediate urge to tell Theo everything he wanted to know, Hermione took a moment to consider her choices. She could tell Theo how she knew — she'd found Tom Riddle as Head Boy in the 1945 yearbook, and she'd noticed a familiar-looking face near him in the photo with the prefects for that year. It'd been easy to flip to the 6th years and see Thoros Nott peering out at her, with the same nose and jaw that Theo had. There had been another photo of them together, standing with three other boys, all three of them in Slytherin ties. Hermione had made a copy of the picture, and then duplicated the yearbook itself — whoever had produced it hadn't known copyright charms, apparently.

Or… she could _not_ tell Theo anything. Theo never revealed _his_ sources — he just seemed to know things. Why should she reveal hers?

(Especially because her sources were old yearbooks and messing around with anagrams on parchment. Those were much less impressive sources than a family library of ancient and secret knowledge.)

"I'll tell you if you answer me," Hermione bargained.

Theo looked mutinous.

"Only if you share first," he said, and Hermione shrugged.

"You'll need to let me go," she said. "It's in my bag."

Theo looked at her very suspiciously, but he slowly unclenched his hand from her arm, releasing her. Hermione gave him a haughty look before going over to her bag. It took some rummaging, but she found what she wanted.

"This is an old photo of the Dark Lord, back when he was in Hogwarts," Hermione told Theo, showing him the photo. "That one, there, is your father."

"How do you know this is of the Dark Lord?" Theo said immediately.

Hermione leveled him with a curt look.

"I am not wasting my time with this nonsense," she said flatly. "That boy, there, in the middle, grew up to be Lord Voldemort. You and I both know it."

Theo hissed at the name. He gave Hermione a grudging look.

" _Fine,_ " he said. "That's the young Dark Lord."

"Who are the others in the photo?" she asked. "Who were the other friends the Dark Lord had?"

"That is _not_ what you asked before!" Theo objected loudly.

"I know it's not," Hermione said. "I'm changing my question. Because I had to show you this anyway, I may as well get the truth out of you."

Theo looked outraged, his face turning flushed and angry, his hands shaking slightly. Hermione sighed and waited, impatient, before a flicker of something flitted across Theo's face, making her pause.

Was that…

Was Theo _scared?_

She'd presumed he was angry, the way he'd lashed out. But if he was lashing out out of fear...

If he was _frightened_ , not furious...

Hermione's eyes carefully scanned Theo from top to bottom. He was trembling, sure, but that could be from restrained anger as well as fear. His breathing seemed to be hard, and there was a thin sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead. His eyes were darting around rapidly, as if scanning instinctively for an exit.

Hermione paused and considered what she was asking from Theo's point of view, before wincing. _Give me implicating information about your father's illegal activities that I have proof of in this photo_ seemed a _lot_ worse when she parsed it out. No wonder he had reacted.

Biting her lip, Hermione tried a different tactic.

"I found this while trying to figure out who's opening the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione told him quietly. "I'm worried about the monster attacking. If there are children of the original Death Eaters who might have learned the secrets of the Chamber of Secrets, they might be the one who's opening it now."

Theo raised an eyebrow.

"And you think the monster might attack you?" he said. "Even though you're 'New Blood'?"

"I think if someone is controlling the monster, it would depend on what the person controlling the monster believes," Hermione shot back. "If it's one of the older students who don't see me in class and don't see evidence that I'm a New Blood, I'd be in danger. If it was you, I wouldn't be nearly as worried."

Theo looked surprised.

"You thought _I_ might be the Heir of Slytherin?" he asked.

"I thought you might be the one opening the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione corrected. "I don't anymore, though."

Theo looked conflicted.

"I'm not asking you this to blackmail you." Hermione's voice was soft. "I'm asking you because I'm scared."

A torn expression warred on Theo's face, before he looked resigned.

"Give me the photo," he said.

Wordlessly, Hermione handed it over.

Theo sighed and examined the photo, peering at it closely.

"This one is my Dad," Theo confirmed. "These three — Dolohov, Rosier, and Mulciber," he said, pointing to each of them in turn. "I don't know their first names. And this is the Dark Lord. I don't know his name either."

Hermione's blood ran cold.

"Dolohov, Rosier, and Mulciber," she said. "They _all_ have children here."

Theo looked uneasy.

"Alexia Rosier wouldn't be it," he said. "She has an older brother, Felix, who graduated a few years back. If one of them would be the Heir of Slytherin or would have been told how to open the Chamber, it would have been Felix."

Hermione fought not to react. Alexia Rosier had been one of the people who had attacked her in the abandoned classroom last year.

"Evzen's a seventh year, and he's doing his best to keep his nose clean," Theo continued. "He knows he's facing an uphill battle to get any kind of gainful employment with his father in Azkaban. I'd be really surprised if he's the one behind this."

"That leaves the Mulciber twins," Hermione said. "Either one of them could do it."

Theo shrugged.

"I mean, maybe?" he said. "They still wouldn't have the blood of the Heir of Slytherin, which is what I'd lock the Chamber of Secrets on. They'd only be able to if it worked via password, and if their grandfather knew _and_ told them."

Hermione sighed. "I'd rather be overly cautious than not cautious enough," she said. "Thanks, Theo."

Theo looked down at her, considering.

"I get something in return, now," he told her.

"You do," Hermione agreed, amicable. "What do you want?"

"I want this photo," Theo said immediately. "And I want a flask of the completed Polyjuice Potion to keep for myself, no questions asked."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Does it keep for long?" she asked. "I feel like this probably has a short shelf life."

"It will in the right flask," he said.

Hermione considered, then nodded.

"Fine," she said. "Once it's done."

Theo glanced both ways in the corridor before they left the room, locking the door and watching it vanish from view. They headed back to their common room, keeping alert.

"I don't know where you're getting your information, Granger," Theo said grudgingly, "but I'm impressed."

Hermione nearly stumbled, but she managed keep walking and hide her reaction.

"Good," she said lightly. "It will be beneficial for both of us to continue to share information, then."

Theo went to his dorm room after they got to the common room. Hermione nodded a good-bye and went to sit down on one of the sofas, her mind replaying the scene in the brewing room over and over.

 _Theo shoving her against the wall, hard_ —

 _Not being able to squirm free_ —

 _The panic that flooded her body_ —

The details were vivid in her mind.

Finally she stood, going over to a group of older students.

"Excuse me," she said. "Do any of you know where Jade is?"

"Rince?" one of the boys asked. "Haven't seen her in a while."

"Jade's in the dormitory," another girl told her. "At least, last I knew."

Hermione thanked them and headed down the girls' dorm hallway, passing her own and continuing almost to the end. She knocked on the door for the 6th years, and there was a lengthy pause before the door cracked open, Jade peering out around it. Her hair was mussed and her shirt wrinkled, and she looked surprised when she saw Hermione.

"Granger?" she said. "What're you doing here?"

"I have a bit of a problem," Hermione said. "Might I come in?"

Jade cringed, but she acquiesced, opening the door enough to let Hermione slip inside.

Another older girl was inside, straightening her skirt. She had a Ravenclaw tie and a prefect pin.

"Hello," she said, offering Hermione a smile. "I'm Milan Bexley, from Ravenclaw."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said immediately, dipping a curtsey. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Milan laughed, then turned to Jade.

"She's adorable," she said. "Do all your little snakes always use such formality?"

"They do if they know what's good for them," Jade said, locking the door again. She fixed Hermione with a dark look. "They also keep their mouths _shut_ , if they know what's good for them."

Hermione nodded. If Jade had a girlfriend, it wasn't any of her business.

"What do you need?" Jade asked her. "What's your problem?"

Hermione shivered, the memory coming back over her — the stark fear when Theo grabbed her arm, the realization he was physically stronger than her, the panic that had gripped her.

"Is there a way to fight off a boy if you can't get to your wand?" Hermione asked. "Say, if he grabs your wand arm and he's stronger than you?"

Milan gasped and Jade's face darkened.

"Are you okay?" Jade demanded. "Did anyone do anything to you?"

"I might have a bruise tomorrow, but that's all," Hermione said. "But… if it happened once, what's to stop it from happening again? I'm not a particularly strong person."

Jade and Milan exchanged a significant glance, before Jade turned back to Hermione.

"There are some spells," she told her slowly. "They're not widely taught, but they're passed down from mother to daughter in some families. They can help with that sort of thing — make your magic react to a threat and push the man away from you."

"There are also less Dark things one can do," Milan said, standing up from the bed. She moved over to Hermione, eyeing her. "How familiar are you with Muggle things?"

Hermione hid a smile. "More familiar than you'd expect."

Milan gave her a calculating look. "What do you know of martial arts?"

"Like karate?" Hermione said. "Or judo?"

"Yes," Milan laughed. "Have you heard of aikido?"

"No…"

"It's a martial art that's good for someone who's not particularly strong," Milan told her. "It relies on joint locks and using your attacker's momentum against them. I'll teach you a few methods I learned that can help you escape if something happens again."

"When did you learn all this?" Jade demanded, looking cross.

"After fourth year, when Julian grabbed me," Milan said. "My mother enrolled me in a self defense course over the summer. She didn't want me relying on my wand for everything."

Jade looked surprised, and Milan offered her a soft smile.

"I'll teach you too, love," she said. "Can't hurt, can it? And you can teach me the Dark spells?"

"They're not Dark," Jade muttered, but her face flushed.

Milan gave her a fond smile, and Jade gave her a half-smile back, embarrassed. Hermione watched all of this, feeling embarrassed herself. There was an intimacy between them that made Hermione feel like an intruder, but it was somehow heartwarming and sweet to see.

"Anyway," Jade said, clearing her throat. She turned to Hermione, her eyes sharpening once more. "Self-defense spells. Are you ready?"

Hermione twirled her wand. "I certainly hope so."

Jade smirked. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

The rest of the evening passed with Jade and Milan in the 6th year Slytherins' dormitory learning self-defense methods, both magical and Muggle. It was a long few hours before Hermione finally dragged herself back to her own dorm room, both magically and physically exhausted.

Her body ached as she lay down in bed. The prefects' crash training course had been exhausting, and it had _hurt_ — the amount of power those spells demanded was a _lot,_ and getting hit with Milan's joint locks was _painful_ — but Hermione felt a sense of satisfaction.

Now, if she ever needed to — Merlin forbid —she knew how to fight back.


	121. Malfoy's Meanness toward Muggleborns

Classes continued as usual, though students were clustered tighter together in the hallways. The attack on Colin had many people alarmed, and a black market of talismans, amulets, and other protective devices had sprung up. The Muggleborn students were buying anything they could get, all of them wary of the threat lurking unknown in the halls. Slytherins by and large scoffed at such ridiculousness – most of the 'protections' were fake and would do nothing to help anyone. More than that, though, was the confidence that Slytherin's monster would never come after a _Slytherin_.

Hermione outwardly remained unflustered and unbothered, though she was worried on the inside. She'd taken to wearing the Secrecy Sensor Draco had given her under her shirt, just in case, to help her tell when people were lying to her. For the first time ever, she was glad she was starting to develop curves – the little pendant hung low enough to lay between her breasts, not making a weird bump underneath her shirt.

One thing that did bother her was the snide and threatening comments some of the Slytherins would make towards non-purebloods they didn't like in the halls – particularly, when Draco did it. It was one thing to be treated with respect (and even reverence) by Draco in classes and in the commons, but it was quite another to see him make cold, cruel remarks to the Muggleborn Gryffindors in the hallways. He didn't do it often, and he seemed to do it most when he didn't realize she was around, but the remarks he made seemed borderline threatening and malicious at times. The students he taunted were just like her, really, and the _happiness_ he displayed at the thought of someone else being hurt was disturbing.

She also wasn't entirely sure _why_ she was so bothered in particular that Draco doing it. The older Slytherins were cruel, but it didn't sting nearly as much as seeing Draco jeer that someone would be attacked next. Hermione had thought Draco regarded her kindly at the least, now, and that maybe he was hinting at someday wanting something more. She didn't catch him doing mocking the Muggleborns often, but every time she did, it felt like a small betrayal. She understood that Draco would be beaten for being overly familiar with those not of proper status, but she hardly thought his father would beat him for not mocking Muggleborns, or for not being cruel to the other houses.

Tracey was of the opinion she shouldn't let it get to her.

"Draco is an ass," she told her. "He'll always follow what his Daddy says, even if it's mean and untrue."

"Pureblood supremacists are _all_ cruel," Millie commented. "Their value system relies on oppressing or eliminating an entire group of people. Did you really think they weren't?"

"No," Hermione admitted, "but it was easier to ignore before, before there were threats of monster attacks being hissed in the halls."

Hermione didn't like dwelling on the fact that she lived near people who wanted her dead.

"Why does it bother you?" Blaise asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Malfoy's not saying anything about _you_."

Hermione considered.

"It's still _cruel_ ," she said. "I can feel for other people's pain, not just my own. And it's the duplicity of it, really – he doesn't judge me for _my_ blood, but he does everyone else?"

"Your power marks you as a New Blood, not a Muggleborn," Blaise countered. "To him, you're different."

"But I have muggle parents all the same," Hermione argued.

Blaise hesitated.

"Malfoy is a berk," he told her. "He might look up to you, but don't let yourself take it personally," he advised. "Malfoys are attracted to power, and even a moron like him can tell you're going to be powerful when you've grown up." He shrugged. "Doesn't mean he's any less of a twit."

Hermione bit her lip, hurt. She'd known Draco treated her with reverence or admiration, but she'd honestly thought he just liked _her._ It stung to hear that it wasn't because of _her_ , but because of her potential and what she could potentially _do for him_ in the future.

She took a deep breath, settling her emotions and pushing it to the back of her mind. She didn't care _what_ Draco thought of her _—_ she had much more important things to be concerning herself with.

"Even if he _is_ using me somehow, I still don't like him going after the Muggleborns" she confessed. "It's cruel. But with most of Slytherin still not believing I belong in Slytherin, I'm not exactly in a position to confront him over it…"

"You could curse him?" Blaise suggested. "Hit him with something to make it so he gets asses' ears every time he says something rude and mean?"

Hermione snickered. "If only. I don't know any curses like that, and I don't know how to make curses yet either."

" _Yet?_ " Tracey said.

"You can't even take Arithmancy and Runes until 3rd year!" Hermione objected. "And I think you need to get to at least a N.E.W.T. level before you can use what you know to parse the runes and run the configurations to even _begin_ curse creation _—_ "

"Most people _don't_ know how to make curses, Hermione," Tracey informed her. "It's very hard. Very few people can do it. And here you are, sad that you don't know how to do it _yet_ , already presuming you'll learn it in a few years."

Hermione paused. "I mean…"

Blaise laughed.

"Of course Hermione will be good at making her own spells," he said. "She's good at everything else magic, isn't she?" He winked at her, then turned to Tracey. "Just like you're good at winning bets against the poor innocent classmates you deceive?"

"That was your fault!" Tracey laughed. "Not my fault you didn't know the Hufflepuff Keeper was injured. Don't make bets against me you can't win!"

"But what if I can't stop?" Blaise teased. "What if I'm just desperate to win a forfeit off of you like Adrian Pucey did?"

Tracey flushed a brilliant red, and Hermione and Millie dissolved into giggles.

"He said he wouldn't tell anyone," she objected weakly.

"He didn't," Blaise informed her, eyes dancing. "Travers saw you kissing behind the greenhouses."

Hermione laughed as Tracey loudly objected as Blaise and Millie continued to tease her, though part of her was surprised that Tracey was secretly snogging older boys already. She knew that Tracey was a bit boy-crazy, but still, she was only twelve.

Then again, Hermione wasn't exactly sure when _was_ the right time to begin kissing people. She figured it must be something different for everyone, and that somehow she'd know it when it was the right time for her.


	122. The Dueling Club

In December, an unusual notice was pinned up in the entrance hall, one that attracted most everybody's attention. Her classmates all crowded around, Hermione caught up in the throng of them.

"A Dueling Club!" Hermione read, excited. "This will be fun!"

"It's not like Slytherin's monster is going to be able to duel," Terry Boot commented, frowning.

"If it could help people protect themselves against the Heir of Slytherin so the Heir can't _call_ the monster, it wouldn't be a waste," Anthony Goldstein told him. He looked at Hermione and rolled his eyes at Terry, and Hermione smirked. " _I'm_ certainly going."

"I never said I wouldn't go!" Terry objected. "I was just _saying—_ "

At eight o'clock that evening, Hermione headed back up to the Great Hall, along with most of Slytherin House. The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, illuminated by thousands of candles floating overhead. It seemed like most of the school had decided to attend, students packed together near the stage.

"Are we going to need dueling partners?" Tracey asked, her eyes wide. "Dibs on Millie!"

"Hey!" Blaise objected.

"No offense, Hermione," Tracey said with a wincing grin, "but I know you'd slaughter me. I'd rather stand a chance against Millie."

"We haven't even started!" Hermione protested. "We don't even know any dueling spells yet!"

Tracey scoffed. "Oh, and when _haven't_ you been the first person to master a new spell?"

Blaise opened his mouth to contribute, only to stop and stare at the stage.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," he groaned. " _Lockhart_ is the one teaching us?"

Hermione groaned herself, scowling up at the fop dressed in resplendent plum robes.

"At least Professor Snape is with him?" Hermione ventured, as Snape followed Lockhart onto the stage. " _He_ will at least know something helpful, even if Lockhart is utterly useless."

Lockhart waved an arm for silence.

"Gather round, gather round!" he announced. "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"

He beamed at them all, his smile glinting, and Hermione tried not to glare.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions _—_ for full details, see my published works." He gave them all a roguish wink.

"He already required all of us to buy them," Millie said, folding her arms. "Does he really think we _don't_ know what he's talking about?"

"Sshh," Tracey hushed her, watching the professor intently. "He's speaking. You can complain later."

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Two galleons says Snape beats him within three spells," Blaise murmured.

"You're on," Tracey said immediately, smirking. "Two galleons that Snape beats him in _one_."

"I thought you liked Lockhart," Millie pointed out.

"I like to _look_ at him," Tracey said, shrugging. "He's quite fit, isn't he? That doesn't mean I don't know he's an idiot, but he's still a pretty one."

Hermione rolled her eyes and snickered. Snape's upper lip was curled, his black eyes glinting, and she could practically sense his anticipation to curse Lockhart.

"I wonder if Snape volunteered for this," she said quietly. "I bet a lot of the teachers would love to take a shot at Lockhart."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Blaise snickered.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed, Lockhart with much fanfare and Snape with a short jerk of his head. They then raised their wands like swords in front of themselves.

A hush fell over the crowd.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart said. "On the count of three, we will case our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

 _Aiming_ to kill and _accidentally_ killing someone were only a surprised and shocked expression apart, Hermione mused. Though, she didn't think Snape would _actually_ do that to his colleague, no matter how satisfying it might be to contemplate.

"One _—_ two _—_ three _—_ "

It was over in a flash; they swung their wands, Snape cried _"Expelliarmus!"_ and Lockhart was blasted off his feet, flying backward off the stage, smashing into a wall, and sliding down it to sprawl on the floor. Snape stepped forward and elegantly caught Lockhart's wand, which had gone flying through the air, and Hermione and the other Slytherins broke out into cheers.

"That was brilliant!" Hermione said, laughing and clapping. "Did you see how _quick_ he was?"

"Two galleons to me!" Tracey teased Blaise. "One spell! Told you!"

Blaise rolled his eyes but paid up with good grace.

The Slytherins were still cheering as Lockhart got to his feet unsteadily. Snape looked privately pleased, but he gestured for them to fall silent.

"Well, there you have it!" Lockhart said, staggering back up onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm _—_ as you see, I've lost my wand _—_ "

Snape stepped forward and handed it to him silently.

"Ah, thank you. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy _—_ however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"

Snape's eyes had turned murderous, and perhaps Lockhart noticed, because he said "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come around and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me _—_ "

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Hermione watched as Lockhart went through the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, but Snape reached Harry first. She could see his lip curl, and a moment later Harry, Neville, and Ron were being marched over to the Slytherins.

"Time to split up the little Lion Trio," Snape said, smiling coldly. "Miss Bulstrode, why don't you partner with Mr. Longbottom over here. Mr. Zabini, let's put you with Mr. Weasley. And Potter…"

Snape paused for a moment. Hermione realized he was looking between her and Draco as a partner for Harry _—_ Draco because of his animosity with Harry, and herself because she was the strongest in the class. She felt a flush of pleasure, even though Snape had said nothing.

"Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. Miss Granger, you can partner Miss Davis."

Tracey groaned, and Hermione stifled a snicker at Tracey's theatrics.

After everyone was paired up, they all spread out, making sure each pair had enough room to have some space to move and cast in.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents _—_ _only_ to disarm them _—_ we don't want any accidents _—_ one, two, three!"

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Hermione cast, mimicking the sharp jab Snape had done with her wand. A blast of red light shot out and hit Tracey, making her stumble back and drop her wand on the floor. She coughed and collected herself, shooting Hermione a dirty look.

"This is why I didn't want to partner with you," she complained. "You _always_ win."

"Then you should have cast it too," Hermione said.

"I _did_ ," Tracey muttered. "It just didn't _work_ , okay?"

 _"I said disarm only!"_ Lockhart shouted in alarm from somewhere above her. Hermione tuned him out.

"Why don't you try now?" she offered. "Make sure you make a jab with your wand, not the flowing swoop Lockhart was doing."

Tracey bit her lip and took a stance and a deep breath. _"Expelliarmus!"_

The spell felt like a punch to the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of her, but Hermione didn't fall back a step or drop her wand. She gasped and wheezed for a moment, before straightening up.

"That _hurt_ ," she told Tracey, and Tracey looked pleased.

"Yours hurt too," Tracey informed her. "Snape blew Lockhart off his feet _—_ we probably should have figured out that these might hurt, you know."

Really, she should have. Hermione had just figured Snape's hatred for Lockhart had played a role in his performance _—_ Defensive spells often ran on emotion, she knew.

" _Finite Incantatem!"_ Snape shouted from above, and Hermione blinked. She turned around slowly, surveying the carnage before her.

A haze of greenish smoke hung over the scene. Both Neville and Millicent were lying on the ground, panting. Blaise looked furious and was holding his hand over his nose, blood dripping through his hands, and Ron was frantically apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done, ashen-faced. Draco and Harry were panting and glaring daggers at each other; Hermione suspected they might have been the ones to cast non-disarming charms on each other first.

With a sigh, Hermione moved through the crowd, reaching Ron and Blaise.

"Broken?" Hermione questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean to!" Ron said, panicked. "It was the wand _—_ something blew out of it and _—_ "

"Your wand is a menace," Hermione snarled. "Get a new one. If I need to sponsor it for you just so I don't have to deal with yours in classes anymore, I will." She turned to face Blaise, her tone softening. "I'll need to see your nose in order to set it properly."

Reluctantly, Blaise lowered his hands, his nose and chin a bloody mess. A weak _Aguamenti_ cleared off the most of it, and Hermione reached up to Blaise's face, pausing.

"This is going to hurt," she warned him.

"I wouldn't expect otherwise," Blaise said. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, steeling himself.

With a deep breath herself, Hermione reached up and pushed his nose back into place, ignoring the gross noises it produced, and aimed her wand. _"Episkey."_

There was a sickening _crack_ and Blaise yelped, but Hermione was satisfied as she saw his nose straighten and reconnect, the cartilage healing without a problem. There was a little more blood that Blaise wiped off with his handkerchief, but he looked pleased.

"Saved me a trip to Madam Pomfrey," he quipped, but Ron was frowning.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Ron demanded, and Hermione shrugged.

"Read it in a book in the Hopsital Wing once," she said. "I think Madam Pomfrey might have demonstrated it to me? It was a year ago or so, now."

Ron looked highly suspicious of her, which made Hermione glare back at him. It was a perfectly acceptable beginner-level spell, and it was a _healing_ spell, which had to be Light magic, if anything. There was no need for him to be glaring at her like that.

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," Lockhart said, flustered. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes were glinting with malice, and he quickly looked away. "Let's have a volunteer pair _—_ Weasley and Zabini, how about you _—_ "

"A bad idea," Snape said, gliding over. "Weasley's wand causes devastation with even the simplest of spells. Miss Granger's already had to heal Mr. Zabini once. How about Malfoy and Potter?"

Hermione could see Harry tense, but Draco looked excited as they were led up onto the platform. Harry took Lockhart's side, while Draco went over to Snape's. Snape leaned down to speak quietly to Draco, while Lockhart went to talk to Harry.

"Now, Harry," Hermione overheard Lockhart say. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do _this._ "

Lockhart waved his own wand in a complicated sort of squiggle and dropped it, and Hermione smirked, though Harry looked even more nervous now.

"Uh, Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"

Draco was muttering something at Harry, who was glaring and muttering back.

"Just do what I did, Harry!" Lockhart said, clapping Harry on the shoulder, and Harry looked outright alarmed.

"What, drop my wand?"

But Lockhart wasn't listening.

"Three – two – one – go!" he shouted.

Draco raised his wand quickly and bellowed, " _Serpensortia!"_

It was as if the end of wand exploded; a giant black snake shot out of it and fell heavily onto the floor between them, before raising itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd struggled to back away from the stage, but the students had packed themselves too tightly for anyone to move much.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape said lazily. "I'll get rid of it…"

"Allow me!" Lockhart interrupted. He stepped forward and brandished his wand at the snake, and a moment later there was a loud **_BANG!_**

There were screams as the snake flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud _smack!_ Enraged and hissing furiously, it slithered toward the edge of the stage right toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. Justin shoved at the people behind him in a panic, but they were packed too closely to the stage, and Hermione could see the stark fear in his eyes.

Harry ran toward the snake, but before Hermione could worry for Harry—

…was that _hissing?_

"No way," Blaise breathed from next to her, his eyes wide. " _No. Way._ "

It _was_ _—_ Harry was _hissing_ at the snake _was_ _—_ and a moment later the snake fell back and slumped in on itself, now looking quite docile but looking at Harry.

Harry looked incredibly relieved and like he might fall over. He turned to Justin with a grin, but Justin looked angry and scared.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hallway, shoving his way through the students who now stood stock-still in shock.

Snape stepped forward and waved his wand, the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape was looking at Harry in a shrewd and calculating way, Malfoy's eyes were huge, and Harry looked confused and slightly frightened as an ominous muttering grew around the walls.

"Ah—an excellent demonstration, Draco—" Lockhart stuttered, not meeting Harry's eyes. "You're both dismissed."

Harry stumbled off the stage, Neville and Ron going to help Harry. Hermione watched as Ron grabbed Harry's robes and began pulling him through the crowd.

" _Go_ ," Blaise said, giving her a shove towards Harry, and Hermione stumbled towards them but latched onto Harry's wrist, pushing through the crowds as well. It wasn't as hard as she expected; people were parting around Harry as if frightened of catching something. Harry looked confused, but Ron looked angry and Neville looked scared.

No one said anything until Ron had dragged them all up to the empty Gryffindor common room, pushed Harry into an armchair, and demanded, "Why didn't you tell us you were a Parselmouth?"

"I'm a what?" said Harry, looking at him blankly.

" _A_ _Parselmouth!_ " Ron said. "You can talk to snakes!"

It was like a small lightning bolt struck inside Hermione's skull, and she gasped.

"I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once—"

"You set a _boa constrictor_ on your _cousin?!_ "

Hermione dimly heard Harry and Ron still talking, something about Brazil, but she was grappling with her sudden realization, a passage echoing in her mind as a new clarity sharpened the words.

 _And thanne I wende to the snakes, and they spoke to me of their homelands and their ways. The serpents told me of their scales and their slitheryng, and with the death of oon of their grandmothers, they helped welcome me ynto their clutch as a speaker of snake…_

"Holy fuck," Hermione breathed faintly. "It's _real."_

Neville's head whirled around to stare at Hermione.

"Did you just _swear?_ " he demanded, and Hermione flushed.

"I've just had a very surprising realization!" she objected hotly. "I didn't expect to learn it was actually possible for people to speak to snakes!"

"Neither did I," Ron said grimly. "This isn't a common gift, Harry. This is bad."

"What's bad?" Harry said, indignant. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin _—_ "

"Oh, that's what you said to it?"

"What d'you mean?" Harry said. "You were there _—_ you heard me _—_ "

"I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake language. You could have been saying anything — no wonder Justin panicked. You sounded like you were egging the snake on or something with all the hissing — it was creepy, you know _—_ "

Harry was gaping at Ron.

" _I spoke a different language?_ But I didn't realize _—_ how can I speak a different language without knowing I can't speak it?"

It was magical, Hermione thought faintly. Something innate _—_ once given as a gift, the language would meld with your magic, not like learning French or German, and passed down in your magic to your progeny…

"D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive snake from biting off Justin's head?" Harry demanded. "What does it matter _how_ I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," said Neville, finally joining in, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry's mouth fell open, and so did Hermione's.

"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-great-grandson or something–"

"How did I not _know_ this?" Hermione cut in. She turned to Ron. "Are you serious? Slytherin House's mascot is a snake because he could talk to snakes?"

Ron gave her a funny look. "Yes. Why did you think it was a snake, then?"

"I didn't really think it had a reason!" Hermione said, throwing her hands up. "Probably because 'Slytherin' sounded like 'slither', so it seemed thematically appropriate! Slytherin could speak to snakes… oh, this changes _everything_ …"

Ron and Neville were looking at her strangely, but Harry looked relieved; Hermione could tell that he was trusting her, that she had figured out what would save the day—

"Changes _what?_ " Ron wanted to know.

"Listen," Hermione said, forcibly settling herself back down. "Let's go through this logically, okay? First, Harry can speak to snakes."

"Yes," Ron said. "I think that's obvious by now."

"And Harry, the snakes can _speak back_ _to you,_ correct?" she said, pressing.

"Yes," Harry said. "The one in the zoo told me it had never seen Brazil, and I understood it."

"Excellent," Hermione said. "So: Harry can speak to snakes, and Harry can understand snakes when they speak."

"That's exactly what being a Parselmouth _means_ , Hermione," Ron said condescendingly with a scowl, but Hermione ignored him.

"And Harry, you've been hearing voices, correct?" she went on. "Voices only _you_ could hear, ones that Lockhart couldn't hear the first time, and ones that Neville and Ron couldn't hear on Halloween?"

Realization began to dawn on Harry's face.

"You think I've been hearing _snakes?_ " he said.

"A giant snake or serpent of some sort would be my guess," Hermione said. "Something large enough to produce a hiss you'd be able to hear through the walls."

Ron paled.

"What did you say you'd been hearing it say, Harry?" he said. "'Let me tear you'?"

"Let me rip you, let me tear you, let me kill you," Harry repeated, wrenching his face up as he tried to remember. "On Halloween, there was something about being hungry and smelling blood as well…"

"And what," Hermione said, sitting back and folding her arms, satisfied, "would be more appropriate as the Monster of Slytherin than a giant snake only Slytherin's Heir could control?"


	123. An Owl from Quality Quidditch Supplies

To Hermione's surprise, no one else seemed to have figured out that the Monster of Slytherin was a giant snake of some sort. Rumors of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin were flying fast and thick, but they were all based on the idea of him being descended from Salazar Slytherin somehow, and Harry being his heir because he was a Parselmouth. Hermione supposed that no one besides her and Harry's other friends had known he'd been hearing voices in the walls, but she was still surprised no one else seemed to have made the leap.

She kept what she'd discovered quiet, though. Harry was her friend.

With what she knew, knowing that Parseltongue was passed down through magic from parent to child, and knowing that Lord Voldemort had been the Heir of Slytherin who controlled the monster fifty years ago, it was easy to make the connection – Lord Voldemort had given Harry his curse scar, the lightning bolt that made him famous, and he must have left a piece of his magic behind by accident when he did.

It was _possible_ that Harry was distantly descended from some far-flung side branch of the Slytherin family tree, but Hermione thought _her_ idea was much more likely.

So. Hermione was looking for someone _else_ in the school who could speak Parseltongue. With as rare as Ron made it sound, the odds there would be one that _wasn't_ the Heir were slim to none.

Hermione was musing to herself about all this over breakfast, idly stirring her tea without eating or drinking it as her classmates chattered around her, when an unexpected owl delivery knocked her from her brainstorming of how to root out who all could talk to snakes.

"Ah... thanks…"

She fed the owl a bit of bacon and untied the letter, and the owl flew off. Tracey leaned over, curious.

"What'd you get?" she wanted to know.

Hermione eased the wax seal open (two crossed broomsticks) and unfolded the letter carefully.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _Our records indicate the lost Bludger you have found was purchased by Lucius Malfoy several years ago. Our records do not indicate a home address; we advise contacting him by owl to arrange the return of his property._

 _We thank you for being so forthright as to want to return someone's lost property; most young witches or wizards would keep it as their own. As a thank you for being so honest, we have included a voucher for five galleons off any purchase over twenty-five._

 _Many pleasant returns,_

 _Marcel Callimachus_

"Lucius Malfoy?" Tracey made a face, reading over Hermione's shoulder. "You found something of his?"

"In a manner of speaking," Hermione said, gnawing on her lip. She glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. To her surprise, Luna was looking directly back at her, almost expectantly. "Would you excuse me, Tracey?"

She stood and went to Luna, who joined her amicably, and they left the hall.

"I could tell you would want to talk today," Luna said, with a small mysterious smile. "The future is swirling with possibilities, and it feels like whatever you figure out is going to decide what path we're on from here."

"Oh, great, _more_ pressure," Hermione said sarcastically, but Luna only laughed as Hermione and Luna took refuge in the empty Ravenclaw common room. Hermione sank into one of the couches, rubbing her temples, while Luna took a place on a chair opposite her.

"So," Luna prompted. "What have you discovered?"

Hermione's mind did a quick scan. There was a _lot_ she hadn't yet told Luna, really.

"Err— to sum up, Lord Voldemort opened the Chamber of Secrets here 50 years ago and pinned it on Hagrid, Slytherin's monster is a giant snake, and the Heir of Slytherin is controlling it via Parseltongue," Hermione said. "Now, though — the cursed Bludger, the one that tried to kill Harry, was purchased by Lucius Malfoy."

"And?" Luna pushed. "What does that mean?"

Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure. Harry said Dobby claimed he cursed the Bludger to keep him safe, so—" She clapped her hand to her forehead. "Of _course_. Dobby must be the Malfoys' house elf. He must have stolen it and swapped them out."

"That makes sense," Luna said, idly toying with a pin of a carrot she was wearing. "But what does that mean?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Harry said Dobby first warned him about all this before the school year even _began_ ," she said slowly, recollecting. "In order for Dobby to know the Chamber of Secrets would be open and a threat to Harry _before_ it was ever opened, he would have had to overhear someone's plot _to_ have the Chamber of Secrets opened."

"So Lucius Malfoy wants all the Muggleborns at the school harmed?" Luna said, twirling her hair. "I think that makes sense, from what I know of Mr. Malfoy. He doesn't seem like a very nice person."

Hermione snorted. "That's putting it mildly."

"Have you discovered the mastermind behind the plan, then?" Luna said. "The Malfoys are the Heirs of Slytherin?"

"No. That still doesn't make sense..." Hermione frowned. "There's no way Draco is the Heir of Slytherin or a Parseltongue — I saw his expression when he saw Harry speak it. So… Lucius Malfoy is working with someone else?"

Luna shrugged. "Who can say?"

Hermione groaned and threw her head back on the sofa.

"You know," she said conversationally, "I once prided myself on my logical thinking, telling myself that most wizards didn't have an ounce of logic in their heads."

"Just because you can't solve the proof doesn't mean your premises are wrong," Luna chided. "It just means you haven't found all the clues to find all the premises yet."

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"…that makes sense," she admitted.

Luna offered her a smile. "So, what will you do next?"

"I'll need to figure out who the poor sop is that Lucius Malfoy is manipulating," Hermione said, thinking aloud. "Lucius Malfoy doesn't seem the type to do anything directly or implicate himself, so whomever he's working with probably doesn't even _know_ they're being manipulated."

"And how will you figure out how to do that?" Luna prompted.

Hermione considered, brainstorming a moment, before a slow smile spread across her face.

"Luna," she said, her eyes sparkling. "How would you like to do a bit of ritual magic with me?"

Luna beamed. "I thought you'd never ask."


	124. A Secret Discovered

Blaise's excitement when she approached him about joining her in a ritual was almost a palpable physical thing.

"What will we be doing?" he said eagerly, practically vibrating with energy. "When will we do it? I know the full moon is in a week, and we can—"

Hermione laughed.

"I have to figure out all the details first," she told him, amused. "But I don't think the phase of the moon will matter."

Harry looked relieved when Hermione approached him about trying a ritual.

"Anything to get my mind off of this Heir of Slytherin business," he said. "Did I tell you the Hufflepuffs are all thinking I'm planning to off Justin? Said I don't like Muggleborns because I don't like the muggles I live with…"

"I'm not sure how much this will help with getting your mind off of it," Hermione admitted. "It's to help figure out more about the Heir of Slytherin…"

"Even better," Harry said fiercely. "The sooner we figure out who it really is, the sooner I can clear my name."

Hermione spent the next few evenings in the Slytherin common room with a couple books, reading and researching to put together what little she already knew about the ritual she wanted to do and what other parts she would need to make sure the ritual worked. Blaise finally realized that nagging her about when they were going to do the ritual was making everything take longer, so he'd shooed everyone off from bothering her from the past couple days, which was a huge help.

She was just figuring out what the incantation they'd need would be when she was abruptly dropped into a sea of ice.

Cold consumed Hermione, choking her, and it took her a solid moment to realize she wasn't drowning or floundering — but somehow, she was in a pool of chillingly cold water. She was under the water, yet she could still breathe. There was a thick layer of ice above her head, within someone banging hard on the ice above — trying to break her out, perhaps…?

Curious, she swam closer to the surface, only to see a very familiar face with familiar black eyes trying to see through the ice to her, and realization crystallized in her brain.

A minute later, she was back in the Slytherin common room, reeling back and gasping loudly. It took her a long moment to realize she wasn't soaking wet, her hair wasn't dripping all over the table, and she could breathe just fine.

Blaise and Theo had raised their heads from their nearby chess game and were staring at her, both of them with wide eyes, but Hermione felt a hot flare of anger consume her.

"Blaise, watch my things," she directed, standing and grabbing her wand. A moment later and she had run out the door, racing down the dungeon corridors.

She skidded to a halt in front of a familiar office, and she pounded loudly on the door before forcing it open a moment later, darting inside and coming to a halt, chest heaving.

Both Draco and Snape looked very surprised to see her. Draco look somewhat taken aback by her appearance, but also somehow curious. Snape now looked only mildly annoyed.

"Miss Granger, your impatience for knowledge knows no bounds," he drawled. "As you can see, I am with another student right now—"

"Violating his mind?" Hermione cut in fiercely. "Legilimency is _illegal_ if not consented to and unauthorized, _Professor_. And from Draco's expression, I _severely_ doubt he consented to anything."

Snape sucked in his breath sharply, and Draco turned to look at Snape in shock. "Is that true? You're a Legilimens?"

Hermione had never seen the expression on Snape's face before. His eyes were glinting, and there was a tension there that was terrifying in its intensity. There was a gust of cold wind that sent the candle flames all fluttering, and a sharp jab from Snape's wand silently locked the door.

"And _how_ , Miss Granger," Snape whispered, his eyes glittering, "do you know _that?_ "

Hermione fought the urge to recoil from the professor. She often thought the lower Snape's voice got, the worse trouble you were in. She took a breath and steeled herself.

"You were trying to read Draco's mind," she said steadily. "I could _tell_."

"You could tell?" he repeated dangerously, but Draco frowned and looked up at her.

" _I_ couldn't tell," he said. "I thought _I_ was supposed to be able to tell when someone was trying to get in my head. How come _you_ could tell when I couldn't?"

"Because you fell unconscious during the ritual," Hermione told him, keeping her eyes trained on Snape. "I had to seal both sides of the connection, both yours and mine. So now I'll know when either of us are under attack, and you'll know when neither of us are."

Draco sat back in his chair and scowled, but Hermione ignored him. It was his own damn fault, anyway.

" _This_ was your little ritual?" Snape breathed. "You performed a ritual to detect Legilimency?"

"It was more for a sort of foreign-magic Occlumency shield," Hermione said. "I wasn't having much luck with meditation or studying Occlumency, and Draco agreed that he'd want his thoughts shielded from Dumbledore too—"

"You did this to hide your thoughts from the _Headmaster?_ " Snape's voice was a more normal volume now, but sharp. "What have you so important to hide that you would do an _untested ritual_ to protect it?"

Hermione tossed her head, shaking her curls.

"That," she said, "is for me to know, and no one else."

Snape's eyes gleamed in response.

"Draco," he said. "You are dismissed for now. We will continue this conversation later."

Draco glanced from Snape to Hermione.

"If it's all the same, I'd rather stay—"

"You are _dismissed_ ," Snape hissed, his eyes fierce, and Draco fled.

Snape fixed his eyes on Hermione next, and she fought the urge to flinch.

"Miss Granger," he breathed. "Sit."

Hermione sat.

She watched as Snape took a moment to visibly collect himself. Being discovered as a Legilimens had thrown him, she could tell, and she suspected learning what the secret ritual she and Draco had done hadn't made the shock any better. Snape settled back into himself, his back straightening and his breathing normalizing, before his eyes flickered open to meet Hermione's.

"Miss Granger," he said evenly. "You will explain."

Hermione attempted to raise an eyebrow. She ended up kind of winking with both of eyebrows going up at the same time, but she trusted her accompanying sneer would at least get her meaning across. She'd have to practice raising her eyebrow alone in the mirror before trying it again.

"Explain?" she said, haughty. "Explain what?"

"Let's start with why you felt the need to keep the Headmaster out of your thoughts," Snape said conversationally. "After that, we can address this secret ritual."

"I didn't want him in my head reading my mind," Hermione said flatly. "How is that an unreasonable thing to want?"

"It isn't," Snape said. "But it isn't something that worried you at all last year."

"I didn't _know_ Dumbledore could read minds until this year," Hermione objected. "Theo told me after the Sorting Feast, after that weird remark Dumbledore made. And then Dumbledore summoned me to his office, and I just got so mad…"

"The Headmaster summoned you?" Snape repeated.

"Yes! And it was so unfair!" Hermione said vehemently. "He was being unfair and suspicious of Slytherins without justification, and he wanted me to stop being friends with Harry—"

"Miss Granger, stop." Snape's voice cracked like a whip. "Take a deep breath, settle your emotions, and start again." His expression was stern from across the desk. "I want to know the facts of what happened — not your emotional rant about it all."

Hermione paused and took a deep breath. Trying to settle herself, she met Snape's eyes.

"To truly explain it, I'll need to start earlier, this summer," she began, "when I helped rescue Harry."

Snape's eyes gleamed, but he remained silent.

Hermione told him all that had happened — how Harry had stopped writing back, how she'd discovered he was locked up in his room, and how she had gone with the Weasleys to break him free. She said how Dumbledore had heard from Harry that she had rescued him, and Dumbledore had called her to his office to chastise her.

"He relaxed as soon as I mentioned the _Weasleys_ were involved," Hermione spat, "because then he knew Harry wasn't _alone_ with a Slytherin corrupting him…"

She continued, detailing how Dumbledore had wanted her to promise not to interfere and to leave Harry to be tortured next time, to tell an adult and do nothing if something arose that threatened Harry at home again. By the time she finished her entire tale, Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose tightly.

"So let me get this straight," Snape said, closing his eyes briefly. "Over the summer, you, a twelve-year-old child, helped kidnapped another twelve-year-old child from his legal guardians—"

"I _rescued_ him!" Hermione objected. "He _wanted_ to come with us and escape!"

"—and then when the Headmaster asked you, a legal _child,_ to _not_ kidnap another legal child again, and to speak to an _adult_ instead about any concerns, you refused to agree." Snape's eyes glittered. "Have I missed anything?"

Hermione's face flushed a hot red.

"It wasn't like that," she objected. "He relaxed as soon as I mentioned the precious _Weasleys_ —"

"So the Headmaster being relieved that Potter, again, a _legal child_ , had spent the summer with a safe wizarding family is discrimination?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "And him being relieved that Potter was at least with adult wizards who could provide some form of protection to him, instead of being kept defenseless in a mundane muggle house for weeks, is somehow discriminating against Slytherins?"

Hermione sat in her chair, arms folded, and glowered at the floor.

"…it wasn't like that in person," she said, scowling. "He doesn't like me because I'm in Slytherin and I'm Harry's friend. I could tell at the feast last year, when we won the House Cup."

"While it may be true that the Headmaster holds no love for Slytherin house and would prefer if Potter discontinued his association with you," Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, "none of what the Headmaster requested of you was in any way unreasonable."

Hermione scowled, and Snape rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"…Nonetheless, what's done is done," he conceded. "I understand that you felt unjustly persecuted, regardless of whether you were or not. This made you want to shield your thoughts from the Headmaster?"

"Something like that," Hermione admitted, her mind flickering to the secret trunk under her bed. "I felt like he was kind of threatening to me – not that he _threatened_ me, just sort of a looming threat — and I needed to do a ritual with Draco anyway, so it seemed efficient to handle both issues at once."

"You _needed_ to do a ritual with young Malfoy?" Snape frowned. "That is a very specific choice of words, Miss Granger. What caused such a _need?_ "

"Draco's not allowed to talk to me unless I'm seen as his equal, and I'm not, according to my blood," Hermione said shortly. "Draco said his father allowed it last year because we were both seam in the Slytherin Fallen Foe ritual, which meant Magic had acknowledged us as equals. If I wanted us to break the Fallen Foe ritual bind, I needed to do a different ritual for Magic to acknowledge us as equals again so he wouldn't keep getting in trouble."

Snape's eyebrows had gone up.

"Is that so?" he queried, and Hermione made a face.

"I wouldn't have agreed, except his father _beats_ him for talking to those he deems 'lesser' as equals," she said. "I didn't want a classmate to be hurt because of me, not when I could prevent it."

An emotion flickered over Snape's face, but Hermione couldn't catch what it was.

"And so you did this ritual with young Malfoy?" he probed, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes — I combined a ritual for protection and a ritual for clarity of thought and some other bits to get what we needed," she explained. "The idea was to build a shield of magic in front of the others' thoughts. That way, when a Legilimens attempted to come through, we would become aware of the attempt from the 'banging' on the shield, as well as the foreign shield blocking off our thoughts." She made a face. "Draco put too much of his magic into making the shield he made for me _—_ we had to match each other's magical output, and he wanted to show off that he was the stronger one. He wasn't, of course… so he passed out. I had to finish the ritual as best I could and run him to the Hospital Wing… but that's why I can feel people in his head as well as mine, now." She frowned. "At least, I _think_ I'll be able to feel a Legilimens try and read my mind. I don't know if anybody's tried it yet, really."

Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose tightly again. Hermione got the feeling he did that when he was exasperated with her.

"Miss Granger," he began, sitting back up. "You _do_ realize that ritual magic is finicky and dangerous?"

"Not if you know what you're doing," Hermione objected.

"You _Frankensteined_ two rituals together, did you not?"

"I combined them to meld to a new purpose," Hermione shot back. "Ritual magic is all about guiding your intent and magic. If you're _careful_ and you follow the underlying rules, it's not that hard."

Snape gave her a sharp look.

"Where is this ritual?" he wanted to know. "Show me what you did, and explain to me how you knew it was safe."

"Umm," Hermione said. "I don't have my copy anymore."

Snape's gaze was sharp and immediate.

"You _don't have it anymore?_ " he demanded.

"No…" Hermione swallowed. "The _—_ the ritual components were kind of pricey. Draco had to ask his father for help, and in exchange, we promised him a copy of the ritual, and I just gave him mine…"

Hermione braced herself for Snape's wrath, wincing, but it never came. Her eyes flickered open a moment later, puzzled, to find Snape staring at her.

Snape just stared at Hermione.

Stared and stared and _stared_.

Hermione bit her lip nervously. She'd never seen her professor do such a thing before. She fidgeted in her chair a bit, uncomfortable, but she stayed there, waiting for whatever was happening in Snape's mind to finish.

After nearly five full minutes, Snape shook his head slightly, his gaze refocusing on Hermione. This time, there was a pensive, calculating note to his eyes.

"Miss Granger," he said. "You have _no_ idea what you have done."

Hermione winced.

"Sorry?" she ventured.

"On the contrary," Snape said, "what you have done may have saved us all."

Snape didn't explain that enigmatic remark, and Hermione didn't want to ask and risk his ire once more. Snape stood up, and with a wave of his wand, his shelves slid away, revealing his chalkboard.

"Miss Granger, will you please draw your ritual circle and explain to me what you did?" he requested, and Hermione was surprised by the politeness in his tone. "The fact that this previously untested ritual worked is _fascinating_ to me."

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"If I teach you how it works, you might be able to figure out a way to get around it," she objected, and Snape's eyes gleamed.

"And you have things to hide from me in your thoughts?"

"Reading someone's mind without them knowing and agreeing to it is a _violation_ ," Hermione argued. "If I teach you how I did the ritual, I want you to teach me _real_ Occlumency instead."

She looked at him, her expression fierce, and Snape gave her a long, considering look.

"Agreed," he said finally. "Once all the fervor of the Heir of Slytherin business has died down, I will tutor you in Occlumency."

Hermione flushed with pleasure. Snape thought her capable enough to learn Occlumency, even at such a young age! Happy, she skipped to her feet and took the chalk, beginning to sketch out her ritual circle.

"So the triangles aim our intent, these circles protect us, these circles contain the components, and these veins channeled the magic and the energy…"

She explained what each part did as she went, detailing each step of the ritual they went through. Snape's expression remained neutral as she did so, though Hermione suspected there was a note of interest in his eyes.

"And this worked?" Snape wanted to know. "Exactly as intended?"

"If Draco hadn't mucked it up, yes, it would have," Hermione said. "Everything went perfectly."

"Fascinating," Snape murmured, stepping closer to the chalkboard. He ran a finger along the outside of the circle, examining. "And you came up with this yourself."

"Yes," Hermione answered, though it hadn't really sounded like a question. "I _like_ rituals. I like the idea that if I want to do something, _anything_ , I can figure out how to make it happen."

"Ritual magic is generally considered a field of great difficulty," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "And yet, you took to it so easily?"

"It's not hard if you learn the underpinning elements," Hermione explained. "If you learn it by learning what each piece means and what does what, you can learn to assemble rituals as you go for what you need, instead of memorizing a huge list of already-created rituals just in case you need one."

Snape was still looking at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"This is impressive," he said finally. " _Very_ impressive, Miss Granger."

Hermione flushed. "Thank you, sir."

"No, thank _you_." He gave her a short bow. His eyes glittered, but his emphasis felt real. "This ritual does more than you know. Though you do not know why, I suspect I am in your debt."

Hermione gnawed on her lip as Snape straightened up.

"There is one thing, professor…"

"Oh?" Snape had circled around to behind his desk to sit down again. Hermione gathered her courage.

"Well, I _like_ ritual magic, and I'm getting good at it," she said, "so I… umm… I…"

"What _is_ it, Miss Granger?" Snape said. "Spit it out."

"I'm forming a coven," Hermione rushed out. "I've already got four members and we need at least five so I wondered if maybe you would want to be our fifth…?"

She winced, bracing herself for Snape's anger, but she got incredulity instead of fury.

"A _coven?_ " he repeated. "A _coven?_ You are forming — no, of _course_ you are."

He tilted his chair back, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly and looking at the ceiling. Hermione waited nervously, trying not to fidget.

"Would you believe," Snape said conversationally, "that last year at the Sorting Ceremony, I thought it would be Potter or Malfoy who would give me the most trouble in your year?"

Hermione flushed, embarrassed. "I don't cause _trouble_ …"

" _That_ is an entirely subjective statement." Snape sat back up, his eyes coming to rest on her. "Miss Granger, while I will not _forbid_ you from forming a coven, as to do so would go against the very nature of this school—"

Hermione tried not to smile too widely.

"—I cannot join your little coven," he said. He looked down at her. "Coven members must be of approximately equal magical strength. I would be the only adult; the balance of your coven would tilt, and your rituals would be ruined."

"Oh." Hermione frowned. "That's… I didn't realize that. That's a problem… I think I'm probably must stronger than a couple of the others by now…"

"Let me rephrase," Snape said. "It is not so much the power capacity that each member needs to match as much as the level of magical maturity." He steepled his hands. "You will need to choose members of an approximate age to you."

Hermione sighed.

"That makes sense," she admitted. "But sir…"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Can we come to you to learn ritual magic?" she asked, biting her lip. "Like as an advisor sort of thing? We could come to you if we had questions, and you could help us learn what you know…"

Snape let out a long-suffering sigh.

"You would tax _more_ of my time, Miss Granger?" he said dryly, and Hermione flushed.

"We wouldn't need help that often," she objected. "Probably only once a month or so, unless you wanted to teach us more often."

"I hope you realize, Miss Granger, that most covens are not run like schoolyard _clubs_." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "If it would comfort you, I will be available for questions." He snorted slightly. "Better to help prevent trouble ahead of time than try to clean it up afterward."

Hermione flushed, and Snape smirked.

"Though," he admitted, glancing at the chalkboard that still held her ritual circle, "you do seem to have a good grasp of it so far."

Hermione grinned.

"Twenty points to Slytherin for creating a groundbreaking magical discovery," Snape said, and Hermione gasped and beamed at him. Snape rolled his eyes, but Hermione could see his lips were twitching fighting the urge to smile. "Now get out of my office and leave me in peace."


	125. The Double Attack

The next day a heavy snow cancelled most of their classes, and Hermione delightedly spent the day reading in the Slytherin common room, enjoying being near the fire with a hot chocolate nearby. She was learning about Druid groves when Tracey came racing into the room.

"There's been another attack!" she gasped out. "Come quick! Come quick!"

Dropping her things, Hermione raced after her, down the corridor and up the stairs. They had to shove their way through the mass of people that had gathered in a corridor, but they were both lithe and small, only second-years, and they ducked and weaseled their way to the front of the crowd.

Ernie Macmillian was yelling at Harry about him being caught in the act, and Harry looked like he was about to be sick. Professor McGonagall was shooing Peeves away, who cackled and just floated higher. Hermione shifted and craned her head, and the victim came into view.

It was Justin Finch-Fletchley, lying on the floor rigid and cold, his eyes open staring blankly at the ceiling. Hermione felt dread well up in her stomach _—_ Justin being attacked like this, less than a week since the incident at the dueling club… it didn't look good for Harry.

Next to Justin, however, was the strangest sight. It was the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick, but he was no longer a pearly white. Instead, he was black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's, and his head was half off his neck.

"A _ghost?_ " Hermione murmured. "Can ghosts even be petrified?"

"Apparently," Tracey whispered back. "Can you believe this, though? A double attack?"

Professor McGonagall was looking at Harry with deep eyes, and Hermione swallowed uneasily.

This didn't bode well.

Harry had to stand to the side while the logistics of handling the attack were handled. Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra took Justin up to the Hospital wing, but it was impossible to carry a ghost. Eventually, McGonagall conjured a fan and gave it to Ernie, instructing him to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs to Madam Pomfrey, before she took Harry and went off.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Tracey said, her eyes alight. "I'm not _happy_ people are being attacked _—_ that's terrible of course _—_ but the school year was so _boring_ before Halloween, do you remember?"

Hermione snorted, watching the crowd trickle away.

"I once read in a book," she said, "that the Chinese have a muggle curse they use that seems particularly apt here."

"They do?" Tracey looked at her sideways. "What is it?"

Hermione smiled grimly. "'May you live in interesting times'."

* * *

The double-attack had the school in an uproar. Justin was a Muggleborn, and a lot of people had been _expecting_ him to be attacked, to boot. But no one had expected Nearly-Headless Nick to be attacked. No one had known it was even possible for a ghost to be petrified like that, and whispers of Dark Magic flew around the school. The snow day meant people could go where they liked and do what they pleased, freeing the rumors from the usual chains of classmates and houses.

Hermione wasn't sure how the monster had managed to petrify a ghost, either, but she found it objectively fascinating. She'd presumed that whatever the monster did, it did to the body of a person _—_ rendering them unconscious and unresponsive through whatever method. But for a _ghost_ to be attacked, whatever was happening had to either be happening to a person's magic, or to their life force, both things a ghost might still partially have.

No one else seemed to want to analyze the attack, though. Most people were busy gossiping about how Harry had definitely done it, and how McGonagall and Dumbledore had dragged him away to be expelled.

They also seemed uninterested in hearing that that hadn't been what happened at all.

Aggravated, Hermione left the library (where students were loudly whispering that of _course_ Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, why else would he be able to talk to snakes?) and headed for the Gryffindor common room. She paused at the Fat Lady, considering, and the Fat Lady gave her a haughty look.

"You're not one of mine," she said, eyes peering down at her. "What do you want?"

"To go inside," Hermione replied.

The Fat Lady gave her a pointed look. "You need the password to be able to do that."

Hermione smiled sweetly. "Oh, like 'wattlebird'?"

The Fat Lady protested as her hinges swung open despite herself, cries of "how do you know?" and "they're not supposed to tell anyone!" echoing in the halls. Hermione smirked to herself as she climbed inside, enjoying ignoring the Fat Lady's cries.

There weren't many students inside, most of them exploring the castle, playing in the snow, or gossiping, she surmised. Her eyes scanned around rapidly before finding her friends by the fire, and she made her way over.

They were talking lowly, but Harry looked up at her as she approached. "Hermione!"

"Harry," Hermione said. She offered him a sympathetic grin. "Are you alright?"

Harry blew out a long breath. "Yeah, I guess."

"McGonagall took Harry to see Dumbledore," Neville said, to help catch her up. "Harry only just got back. He was telling us what happened."

"At least Harry _came_ back," Ron said. "So we know he wasn't expelled."

"Dumbledore wouldn't expel Harry without concrete evidence," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Did you really think Harry was in danger?"

Ron muttered something under his breath, which Hermione ignored.

With gentle prompting, Harry started his story over, beginning with his encounter with Hagrid in the hall, running into Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick, and Professor McGonagall insisting he see the Headmaster. He mentioned the trip to see Dumbledore (involving a rotating staircase and the password 'lemon drop'), as well as all the knick-knacks in his office, including the Sorting Hat. Hermione was careful to keep her face neutral _—_ she'd never mentioned to these friends that she'd been sent to see Dumbledore herself.

" _—_ So there I was, panicking about this stupid bird catching on fire, only for Dumbledore to tell me it was a phoenix and it was _supposed_ to catch on fire!" Harry gesticulated wildly. "I thought the whole office was going to go up in flames!"

Ron was laughing, while Hermione was trying to suppress a smile. Neville gave Harry a commiserating look.

"Surely that's not that bad, right?" he offered.

"Yeah, it wasn't that bad, really," Harry said, but his eyes didn't meet Neville's. "Hagrid came in, waving a dead rooster around and saying I couldn't have done it because I'd just run into him in the hall and wouldn't have had the time, and Dumbledore told him he _didn't_ think I was responsible for the attacks."

"He didn't?" Ron repeated. "Well, that's a relief, isn't it?"

"He just asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell him," Harry said. "Anything at all…"

Hermione's mind flew to their knowledge the monster was a giant snake being controlled by Parseltongue, the fact Harry had been invited to join her coven…

"I told him there wasn't anything," Harry said. He frowned. "Still. Even after being 'cleared' by the Headmaster, everyone is avoiding me like the plague."

"The attacks have everyone nervous," Neville said. "The list of who wanted to go home over the holidays ended up so long today that McGonagall had to tack up another piece of parchment."

Harry scowled and sighed, and Hermione felt her heart go out to him.

"It'll be okay," she told him gently, resting her hand on his arm. He looked up at her, and she offered him a soft smile. "We'll figure out what's really going on, and we'll get this whole thing cleared up. You'll see."

Harry gave her a tremulous smile back, and Hermione gave his arm a small squeeze.


	126. The Ritual in the Snow

The next day, Hermione gathered her coven so far.

They met outside near Hagrid's cottage near dusk, all bundled up in the snow, and Hermione immediately set about creating the ritual circle they would need. It took a while to get everything perfect, and the others murmured behind her, wondering what they would be doing and grumbling about the cold.

"Do we really have to be outside for this?" Harry grumbled, shivering and rubbing his arms. "I didn't realize I was signing up for frostbite."

"Oh, hush," Blaise said, casting a warming charm on Harry with an eyeroll. "I'm much more curious _why_ we need to be outside. Whatever _are_ we doing, Hermione?"

"We're going to even the playing field," Hermione murmured, setting the last candle into place and charming it. "There. We're ready."

"It's quite pretty," Luna observed. "But what does this do?"

Hermione smiled.

"We're all going to learn Parseltongue."

Harry gasped while Blaise's mouth fell open, and Luna looked intrigued.

"That's _possible?_ " Blaise demanded. "That's really a thing?"

"It is," Hermione confirmed. "I found a book written by a wizard who learned dozens of animals' languages. Snakes' was one of them."

Harry's eyes were shocked.

"That's _insane_ ," he breathed. "Absolutely _mad._ "

"Well, we're only going to learn one animal language right now," Hermione said, tossing her hair. "Parseltongue is the one most likely to help us figure out who's the Heir of Slytherin and terrorizing the school. We'll _all_ be able to speak with snakes." She glanced at Harry. "Then we can find the monster, and then just ask who's been bossing it around." She looked out over them. "Any objections?"

They all shook their heads, and Hermione smiled.

"Excellent. Let's get started, then."

The realization Hermione had, that Parseltongue _existed,_ had led her to go back over _The Booke of the Beastes_ more carefully, with a more literal eye than she had originally. As she did, she was able to realize some things were the same each time the author met a new creature: he made an offering, an animal came to him and sacrificed itself, and then he could speak with its species. Hermione highly doubted that was _all_ of what was going on, but the book wasn't exactly a tome that detailed the logistics and requirements of what all the wizard did.

The incantation they would use for the ritual was largely taken from _The Booke of the Beastes_ but modified to use more modern language. From what Hermione had picked up, the rhythm and intent of the words used in the incantation was more important than the specific words themselves, and Hermione had taken bits and pieces to stitch together into a new incantation for them to use.

Hermione's circle had four candles evenly spread out on the outside of a circle. There was a square inside the circle, connecting the candle points together, and then another circle inside of the square, with a triangle inside of it. There was another triangle within the circle near the edge nearest the forest that connected to the inner triangle with a curved vein. The ground being covered with snow, Hermione had made do by stomping down the snow in a large area to be flat and using colored water to mark off the lines she needed.

She stepped forward, producing three dead mice, and Harry grimaced.

"We're killing things for this?" Harry said, making a face.

"I got these already dead from the kitchen," Hermione reassured him, handing them out. "The House Elves set out traps. They don't exactly go for no-kill ones."

Harry still looked vaguely ill. Hermione passed Blaise and Luna a knife, instructing them to bleed onto the fur of one of the mice. Luna took a dead mouse with no fuss, smearing blood on its fur, and Blaise looked sickly fascinated as he gingerly held the dead rodent and tried to cut his hand at the same time. Hermione instructed them to set the mice in the lone triangle before stepping back to their candles. She took a moment to explain the chant they were going to use.

"I'm going to do most of the incantation," she reassured them. "Just make sure we all repeat the key bits together. Any questions?"

Blaise's eyes gleamed with excitement. Luna was quivering slightly, smiling, and even Harry had relaxed a bit to look interested.

"Ready?" Hermione questioned. "Here we go."

Each one of them knelt down to light their candle.

" _We call upon the serpents_ ," Hermione intoned, " _to hear our words_."

" _We call upon the serpents to hear our words,"_ the other three repeated.

" _We offer ourselves_ ," Hermione continued, " _to join those that are yours_."

" _We offer ourselves to join those that are yours_ …"

With a nod of direction, Blaise, Harry, and Luna kept reciting the couplet over and over, while Hermione moved to the center of the circle into the inner triangle. Withdrawing the silver knife she'd never returned to Draco, she cut her hand, letting several drops of blood drip onto the snow, staining the ground red.

Gathering herself together with a deep breath and closing her eyes, Hermione centered herself and her magic.

Her eyes flickered open, and she began to recite.

" _We seek the serpents, we entreat to thee; Serpents, come to us, and hear our plea…"_

Luna, Harry, and Blaise were still chanting their couplet low in the background, but Hermione was focused on her part.

" _We come to you mute, our songs unsung; We come to you, serpents, to learn your tongue…_ "

There was a feeling of pressure slowly building within the circle, an intensity that began to vibrate in the air.

" _We offer you sustenance that might feed your flesh_ ," Hermione continued, wetting her dry lips. " _We offer you service; we become your crèche_."

The intensity continued to build, the magic a thick, palpable presence among them. Hermione could see Blaise's eyes looking around wildly, darting rapidly from Harry to Luna and back even as he continued to recite.

" _We offer you our blood, fresh from the knife; We offer you our loyalty, in exchange for a life_ …"

The others' chant grew louder and louder as the intensity built. Harry at some point had changed over to hissing the incantation along with the others, and wasn't that interesting?

" _We offer all this to you, to become one of yours. Come now, serpents, and heed our words!_ "

As Hermione yelled out the final words, there was a _rush_ of magic that swept through the circle almost violently, before breaking free and darting out into the forest. Nearly stumbling, Hermione fought to catch her breath as she surveyed her coven members, all of whom seemed to be panting, and she moved carefully back over to her own candle outside of the circle.

"Now what?" Blaise said hoarsely.

"Now we wait," Hermione said. "I don't think we'll have to wait long."

They watched the forest.

The trees were silent in the night, the sky clear and cold.

There was nothing.

Then, there was something _._

They could see something large moving on the ground toward them, undulating unnaturally, a dark blur against the snow. The blur grew as it slowly came closer, but it widened at the back, and soon Hermione realized that not just one snake had come, but a _lot_ of snakes had heeded their call, so much it seemed like the ground itself had become _alive_ , rippling with dark waves.

Hermione gulped. She wasn't _afraid_ of snakes, but it was a _lot_ of snakes for _anyone_ to see approaching them.

"Did we mean to call so many of them?" Harry asked faintly.

"I think it was dependent on how much power we used," Blaise said, casting a sideways glance at Hermione. "And I don't think any of us thought to moderate our level of magic."

"Look," Luna said. "They're waiting."

The snakes were stopping as they arrived at the circle, waiting maybe three feet from the border of the circle closest to them. They waited in a cluster; there were _dozens_ of them, and all kinds of snakes had come.

There was a hissing, and Harry looked surprised.

"Err, they're saying they have heeded our call," Harry said. He blinked. "They're… discussing who will die?"

"Blaise, Luna, with me," Hermione directed, and the three stepped into the circle, each taking a seat at one of the points of the inner triangle. She passed the knife around, and they each let drops of blood drip onto their point of the triangle and into the middle of it, marking them as the newcomers. Harry, already knowing Parseltongue, remained on the outside.

"They're discussing who is sick," Harry continued. "They're… Hermione, are some of the snakes going to _die_ in this ritual?"

"I don't know," Hermione told him honestly. "The book I took this from used a lot of flowery language… but Harry, I suspect so."

Harry gave her a venomous look. "You said this wasn't Dark!"

"And it's not," Hermione said patiently. "Hear yourself; you said they are discussing amongst themselves who will come. They are offering themselves freely, not forcing each other to be sacrificed."

Harry still looked upset, but he was distracted by three snakes winding their way forwards. They stopped just short of the circle, and they seemed to be looking to them for direction.

"They're, umm…" Harry paused. "…they want to hear your promise?"

"Oh," said Hermione. "I guess they were pretty far away in the woods."

"You _did_ say 'come to us and hear our words'," Blaise commented.

Carefully, Hermione recited the five couplets she'd intoned earlier, watching the snakes. There was a feeling of magic building once again, but this time, she could feel it in the circle in front of her, traveling along the triangle, out through the vein to the other triangle, and back again. Blaise and Luna were looking to each other, excitement and nervousness in their eyes, and as Hermione intoned the last words, all three snakes lunged forward and devoured a mouse.

Magic rushed towards them, and pain exploded behind her eyes. Hermione cried out, falling forward, and she could hear Blaise and Luna cry out next to her. It was like lightning had struck her brain directly inside her skull, like a cluster headache had decided to torture her with a vengeance. Hermione clutched her hands into painful fists and clenched her eyes tightly shut, shaking and trying to endure the sudden agony.

Almost as suddenly as it came, the pain left, dissipating into the air as if wisps of smoke. Gingerly, Hermione opened her eyes, rubbing her head, and her eyes took in the scene.

At the opposite end of the circle lay three dead snakes – the ones that had eaten the mice. It struck Hermione as ironic that the ones who ate their sacrifice were the ones sacrificed in the end.

Rituals had a weird way of making circles like that.

The feeling of magic was gone, and all the candles had gone out. Blaise and Luna looked to her expectantly, and Hermione wet her lips.

 _"Hello,"_ she tried, looking at the thick snake at the front of the throng. " _We greet you as friends and allies."_

Immediately, Hermione knew something was different – the words came out all _wrong,_ wet and soft and slippery from her tongue. But she'd _said_ the words in English… hadn't she?

From the look the others were giving her, she suspected not.

A thick snake slithered forward and seemed to nod to her.

 _"Greetings, speakers, students of the serpent-tongue,"_ the snake hissed. Its beady eyes met Hermione's. " _It is uncommon for your kind to respect our ways and seek our tongue."_

Blaise spoke this time, looking excited to try his Parseltongue out. " _We wanted to learn your language. We suspect a large snake is in our school trying to kill our kind."_

Hermione could _hear_ this time that Blaise was hissing out the words, but despite him literally _hissing_ , she could somehow _understand_ him.

Hermione was abruptly aware that this was the _coolest_ thing in the world **,** and she immediately understood how Harry hadn't realized he's spoken Parseltongue at all.

Hermione glanced at Harry, who seemed to be vibrating with excitement. Gone was his anger; now he seemed _thrilled_.

" _This is true,"_ the leader snake hissed. " _Our elders and our sick knew this and knew of the danger we all face. They knew they were not long for this world, and they offered to gift themselves and our language to you instead of lingering for longer."_

Ha! There! The snake had just said it was a _choice_ , a willing sacrifice! Hermione's eyes flew to Harry, but he was too focused on the what was going on.

" _So it is true?_ " Harry asked _"There is a giant snake inside the school?"_

" _There is a serpent,"_ the snake hissed. " _And it is large."_

Harry looked triumphant and satisfied with this confirmation, but Hermione was nowhere near done.

 _"Do you ever explore the grounds, the school?_ " Hermione asked them. _"We are looking for another speaker, one who we suspect controls the serpent."_

There was a murmur amongst the snakes, though it sounded almost like a hive of bees with the low hissing. They were discussing amongst themselves, Hermione realized, and she was momentarily struck with the implications of this. Were snakes _sentient_ , or was the magic of Parseltongue allowing them to verbalize instinct and memory into conscious thought?

A pale yellow snake slithered forward.

 _"I have heard another speaker,"_ it said. _"The speaker came to the structure near the ferrets, and it killed all the fowl, wringing their necks. The speaker spoke to themselves, as if unaware they were doing so."_

Harry blinked. _"What?"_

 _"Hagrid has ferrets near his hut, in the garden,"_ Hermione explained quickly. She turned back to the snake. _"You are saying the speaker came to this place and killed all the roosters there?"_

The snake's tongue flickered out, tasting the air. _"Yes."_

"Roosters?" Blaise wondered aloud. "Did they need to feed the giant snake or something?"

 _"Do you know what they looked like?"_ Hermione asked. _"Were they tall, short? Did they have trousers on or a skirt?"_

The snake considered.

 _"The speaker was small,"_ it said. It jabbed its tail at Luna. _"Perhaps as small as her. The speaker had bare legs and wore the swishy cloth. It had a mane like hers as well, but shorter."_

" _What color was the hair?"_ Hermione pressed. _"Was it brown? Red? Yellow?"_

The snake hissed, but not words, before speaking again.

 _"Our color is not yours,"_ it said grudgingly. _"The hair was not dark, but that is all I can say that is yours."_

Hermione knew when to retreat. _"Thank you,_ " she said, grateful. _"We will use this knowledge to help us all."_

The original front snake almost seemed to nod.

 _"The wild serpent threatens us all,"_ it said. _"The spiders fleeing alone have overrun several burrows. Iff you speakers are true friends of the snakes, you will ensure the rogue serpent meets its end."_

Hermione bowed in thanks to the snake, and the others all copied her and bowed as well. Seemingly satisfied with this gesture, the snakes all turned and slithered away back into the woods. Hermione was amazed to hear them chatter amongst themselves slightly as they went, though their hissing voices trailed off as they trekked across the snow.

Now, the air was silent, and Hermione looked around, from one member of her coven to another to another.

"That," Harry said, his tone grave, "was the _coolest_ thing I have _ever_ seen."

The tension broken, they burst out into laughter, their nervousness and excess energy coming out in giggles and laughs.

"I spoke to a snake!" Luna said, bouncing slightly. "I can speak to snakes now!"

Blaise grinned at Hermione.

"That was the _coolest._ We are now the most Slytherin Slytherins _ever,_ " he pronounced, and Hermione laughed.

"I'm just relieved I'm not going mad," Harry told them all. "When Hermione started speaking to it and it spoke back… _Merlin_ , I'm just so relieved I won't be alone in this anymore!"

There were hugs all around – well, Hermione hugged everyone, but Harry and Blaise didn't hug, just sort of grinned – and Hermione began to pack up their candles, kicking snow around and covering up their circle and the blood staining the ground.

"No one needs to see this," she said. "It would raise questions we don't need or want."

The others helped her kick snow over the circle's colored water until the only trace of them was a bunch of messed-up snow _—_ a perfectly normal thing for a bunch of children to leave behind – and they began their trek back to the castle.

"So now what?" Harry asked Hermione, as they led the way.

"Well, we know the Heir is a girl," Hermione reflected.

Harry's eyes opened wider. "We do?"

"The snake said the speaker had longish hair and wore a skirt, not trousers," Hermione said. "That makes me think it's a girl. And the speaker said she was short – probably someone before her growth spurt, third year or under, I'd guess."

"Oh wow," Harry said. "Though… that's still a lot of suspects."

"It is," Hermione admitted. "But at least we've narrowed the field more than from before."

Harry gave her a tentative smile.

"Hey, it's okay," he told her, comforting. "You'll think of something to figure it out."

Hermione found it ironic that now _he_ was the one trying to reassure _her._

"How do you even know that?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Easy." Harry's eyes sparkled. "You always do."


	127. The Feint, Part 1

The next week or so, Hermione, Harry, Blaise, and Luna spent going around together and hissing, seeing if they could hear the serpent moving or speak to it, being careful not to be caught. There was no movement, however, and their queries to the walls went unanswered. Still, going around speaking in Parseltongue was fun, and it was like a secret language that only they could understand. Harry was overjoyed to have other people who could understand along with him, Hermione could tell, and Luna was excited and skipping at being able to talk to an animal, already wondering aloud (in hisses) which animal they could do next. Blaise was incessant with it, taking delight in hissing whispers in Hermione's ear to make sure things weren't overheard, though Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatics.

Hermione was relatively certain that the Heir of Slytherin wasn't in Slytherin. Anyone in Slytherin would have owned up to it to at least some people, and there would have been whispers and rumors that would have reached her, like there had been in Slytherin the _first_ time the Chamber had been opened. With no such rumors or whispers, Hermione figured the Heir had to be in another house, hiding away and being careful to avoid suspicion and not get caught.

Also, if it was someone in Slytherin, they'd probably have attacked _her_ first, Hermione thought. Most of the older Slytherins still held _opinions_ about her claiming to be 'New Blood' and wouldn't have hesitated to try and take her out.

That left three possible houses the Heir could be hiding in. Hermione wasn't about to go around hissing to all the young girls and seeing if anyone responded – no one was as stupid as to do that – so she had to plan a different sort of plan, somehow.

It wasn't until Lilian Travers was sneering at her in the common room one day, two of the lackeys who had helped torture her nearby, loudly wondering who would be attacked next and who _should_ be attacked, that a brilliant idea came to mind.

* * *

"Colin's still just up there, stiff as ever," Harry said. "It's really unnerving, but at least he'll be able to be cured in the spring."

"Best we can hope for," Neville said gravely. "We're lucky it wasn't worse."

Hermione nodded along, as the four of them (Harry, Neville, Ron, and herself) worked on their homework Monday evening. Hermione had claimed the library was too cold, so they'd invited her up to work in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room with them after dinner.

There'd been a few murmurs as a Slytherin came among them, but the other Gryffindors hanging around seemed to relax once the Weasley Twins had grinned and started nagging her about pranks to do with them.

Apparently if the Weasley Twins approved of you, you couldn't be a bad sort.

"Everyone's on edge now," Ron said, blotting his quill on his page and swearing. "Even McGonagall seems twitchy."

"It's everyone," Hermione agreed. "Even some of the Slytherins, you know."

"The Slytherins?" Neville repeated. "Really? I'd figure the Slytherins would be the only ones who felt _safe."_

"Well, that's _mostly_ true," Hermione admitted. "But… let's just say there are some Slytherins who are really anxious about who they _really_ are coming out."

That was enigmatic enough that her friends all looked intrigued, and a sideways glance told her that other people in the room were casually eavesdropping as well.

"What do you mean by that?" Ron said. "Like the Heir's going to attack someone within the house if they get in a fight?"

"Not exactly," Hermione said. She looked around furtively, somewhat obviously. "I'll tell you, but you can't tell _anyone_ , okay?"

The three nodded their assent, and Hermione continued.

"Rumor has it that Lilian Travers is _terrified_ ," she told them. "She's a 5th year in Slytherin, from a well-known pureblood family. She's _convinced_ the monster is going to come after her."

"But if she's a pureblood, why…?" Neville questioned.

"Because she's actually _not_ a pureblood," Hermione said in secretive tones, though she didn't lower her voice at all. "Her parents couldn't have a child – struggling to conceive is a common problem among the Slytherin pureblood families – and they _stole_ her away."

"They _what?_ " Ron said, his eyes wide.

"The Travers family _stole_ her," Hermione said with satisfaction. "They bribed someone at the Ministry to get a look at the Book of Names for them, and then they went to a muggle home and _stole_ their infant Muggleborn child."

Neville and Ron gasped, and Harry looked horrified.

"But that family," he said. "With their child gone…"

"They probably did something evil to leave a body behind," Ron said darkly. "Transfigured a dead baby of their own, perhaps – they have stillborns a lot too, I know."

"Whatever they did, they stole the baby and have been passing her off as their own," Hermione said. "Lilian grew up in a pureblood family, and she acts every bit the pureblood princess, but it's begun to leak out within Slytherin just why she's been carrying so many protective amulets around."

"I can't _believe_ this," Neville said, shaking his head.

"It's true. She's terrified," Hermione said. "And as she should be, really."

"Really?" Harry repeated.

"Really," Hermione said, nodding firmly. "After all, who would the Heir of Slytherin hate _more_ than a secret Muggleborn hiding amongst the Slytherins, passing herself as a pureblood all this time?"

With that ominous pronouncement they all sunk into silence, quietly dwelling on that possibility as they finished their Transfiguration essays in front of the flickering flames.

Hermione glanced up periodically, naturally, her eyes surveying the room. Though the Gryffindors were attempting to be subtle, there were definite whispers that weren't there before, and more than a few glances being thrown her way as person went to person and the rumor spread.

She smiled to herself in satisfaction.

 _One down_ , she thought. _Two to go._


	128. The Feint, Parts 2 & 3

"It's really kind of you to come down here, Hermione," Hannah said. Her bottom lip wobbled, and she looked near tears. "It's… it's really nice."

"Justin is a good person," Hermione said firmly. "I'm sure Madame Pomfrey will put him to rights as soon as she can, but in the meantime, it still feels like you've lost one of your dearest friends."

Hannah burst into tears, still holding the fruit basket she'd been given by Hermione, and Susan Bones took her into her arms, holding her.

"It'll be okay, Hannah," she soothed her. "He's only Petrified…"

"But what if it had been _worse?_ " Hannah wailed. "He could have _died!_ "

Ernie gave Hermione an uncomfortable look.

"Err," he said. "Would you like to sit down?"

Hermione joined him in taking a seat in a sunken area of the Hufflepuff common room, and she took her time to look around. She'd approached Ernie after dinner Tuesday night in her nicest formal robes, explaining she wanted to offer a gesture of friendship and solidarity to their house, and he'd brought her to their common room with a pleased smile.

The Hufflepuff common room was round and had an earthy, homey sort of feeling. There was a low ceiling and many windows, and even though the sun had set, there was a lingering feeling of sunlight and warmth still permeating the room. There were plants hanging from the ceilings and on the windowsills, and there were copper lamps and other burnished copper decorations spread around the room that gave off or reflected a warm sort of light. There were warm wooden tables and chairs but also a surplus of overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in yellow and black.

The Hufflepuff common room felt _safe_ more than anything, Hermione mused. It was like a burrow of happiness and safety nestled into the upper basement of the school, and again, Hermione contrasted it with the stark, austere nature of the Slytherin commons.

"Everyone's worried," Ernie informed her. "This monster business is taking a toll on everyone. We probably have the most Muggleborns in our house of all the houses, and everyone's frightened of their friends being next."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said. "That's so much stress to bear. With Justin already attacked, and with so many possible victims in your house, that's got to be just awful. We only really have one we need to worry about."

"You?" Ernie frowned.

"We, as in 'we Slytherins'," Hermione clarified. "Our house is only really worried about one person being attacked."

"And it's not you?"

Hermione looked up to see Susan Bones looking at her in interest, guiding Hannah as the two of them rejoining Hermione and Ernie in the sunken pit in the common room. Hannah was sniffling a little, still holding onto the fruit basket Hermione had brought.

"It's not me," Hermione told Susan. "I'm New Blood – that's about as pureblood as a purebloods come, really, whereas the other pureblood houses arguably could have been diluted from their own pureblood founders over the years."

Susan gave her a skeptical look, but Hermione held her confidence.

"If not you," Ernie wanted to know, "then who?"

Hermione looked around furtively.

"Do you know who Alexia Rosier is?" she asked.

Ernie frowned.

"I know the Rosier family by reputation," he said. "Their daughter is a couple years above us, I think?"

"She is," Hermione said. "Only, Alexia Rosier isn't exactly who she claims to be."

In hushed tones, Hermione began telling the surrounding group of the rumors of how the Rosier family hadn't been able to conceive, and how, in desperation, they had bribed someone to get them a name from the Book of Names, and then gone and stolen a baby of their own.

By the time Hermione finished her ominous tale, more Hufflepuffs had come around to listen, their eyes wide. Hermione recognized some of them from classes – Wayne Hopkins, Zacharias Smith, and Megan Jones – but some of them she didn't know. She vaguely recognized a few of them – the Hufflepuff Chasers, maybe?

"That's mad," Zacharias told her, once her story was done. "And you said she's bricking it?"

"Wouldn't you be terrified, in her circumstances?" Hermione countered. "Who would the Heir of Slytherin hate more than a Muggleborn who's been passing herself off as a pureblood over all these years?"

There was a murmur amongst them, and Hermione nodded in satisfaction.

"Exactly," she said. She glanced around. "I'd ask, though, that you not spread this around, though. The Heir of Slytherin clearly couldn't be a Hufflepuff, so I trust you all, but who knows about the other houses?"

"Alexia is a nasty girl," Megan Jones said viciously. "She told me that she'd tell my parents I died well when the monster got me next."

"Nevertheless, I hope _no one_ gets attacked anymore," Hermione said pointedly. "Not even the mean, nasty girls."

Hermione lingered a while, talking about Professor Sprout's latest assignment and essay with a few classmates as the topic shifted, and the Hufflepuffs seemed pleased to have her. Word of the fruit basket she'd brought them for in solidarity for Justin spread across the common room, and she got kind and pleased smiles when she glanced around, and she smiled back. The Hufflepuffs were all so friendly and open, and they were easily accepting of her, even with her green tie. For a moment, Hermione wondered what it would have been like to have been sorted into Hufflepuff, to have been surrounded by love and encouragement and unconditional acceptance her entire school career.

Ernie and Hannah eventually moved away, called to a Gobstones game that needed two more, and an older boy sat down across from Hermione. He was tall and had dark hair cut into waves and bright gray eyes. He looked quite fit – did she recognize him from the Quidditch team? – and he was giving her a quirked sort of smile.

"'The Heir can't possibly be from Hufflepuff'," he repeated. "How do you figure?"

He looked curious and amused, not accusatory, and Hermione shrugged.

"Hufflepuff has put out the lowest number of Dark wizards and witches throughout history," she said. "Just playing the odds, Hufflepuff comes out looking the best. And I don't think a Hufflepuff would _ever_ attack one of their own – you all are known for your incredibly loyalty to each other."

The older boy grinned at her, and Hermione blushed, feeling her face warm.

"Can't argue with that logic," he said cheerily. "A Hufflepuff would never attack one of our own."

He grinned at her, and Hermione smiled back, her face still hot.

"Who are you, anyway?" the boy asked, smiling. "I don't know if we've ever had a Slytherin in our House common room before."

"Ah, I'm Hermione Granger," she said. She stood and swept him a short curtsy. "Pleased to meet you."

The boy's eyes lit with recognition.

"You're the Muggleborn that's not," he said. "I've heard about you. New Blood, I think it was called."

"I'm New Blood," Hermione nodded. "First of my House – a pureblood with Muggle parents."

"That's got to be a trip," the boy said. He was smiling that quirked sort of smile, and Hermione fought to keep from flushing. The boy was _very_ attractive, but Hermione was determined not to be the sort to turn into a stammering fool because handsome boy had smiled at her. "How does Slytherin feel about that?"

"Mixed, mostly," Hermione admitted honestly. "My classmates believe me – they've mostly all heard the prophecy themselves, and they see how well I perform in my classes, so they believe that Magic itself has touched me. The others in the House, particularly the older years – they mostly think I'm just some upstart Muggleborn, and they make sure that I know what they think."

He gave her a commiserating look.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "To not feel welcome in your own House… I could never imagine."

Hermione shrugged, uncomfortable.

"I get by," she said. "Anyway, who might you be?"

"Ah, sorry. I'm Cedric Diggory," he told her. "Fourth year."

He offered her his hand, and Hermione shook it firmly before she realized she had, and Cedric's eyes glinted.

"You _are_ Muggle-born," he said with satisfaction. "Or at least, you actually have muggle parents. I've never seen a pureblood do anything beyond stare at my hand in confusion and derision when I've tried that."

"You were testing me?" Hermione said, her tone one of indignation. "You didn't believe who I said I was?"

"I was." Cedric gave her that quirked smile again. "Slytherins are known for misrepresenting themselves. I like to have faith that people tell me the truth, but it never hurts to gather some evidence to support that belief, does it?"

Hermione was unable to deny his reasoning, and she found she couldn't quite stay mad at him. He was so guileless, grinning at her with that impish smile.

"Hermione?"

Hermione glanced up to see Hannah and Susan standing above her. She stood.

"Yes?"

"Millicent said that you might have something to show us," Hannah said, glancing around. "Though she said we'd have to come to the Slytherin dorms…"

"Oh," Hermione said, remembering. "That's right. Come by on Saturday? Just catch me at lunch, and I'll bring you in."

Hannah gave her a small smile. "Thanks."

Susan looked intrigued but didn't say anything, and Hermione wondered why not.

"You're going to take Hufflepuffs into the snakes' den?"

Hermione glanced back down at Cedric, who was laughing.

"Hufflepuffs invited me into their den," she shot back. "Why would I not do the same?"

"Because Hufflepuffs don't strike first," Cedric said. "Badgers are fierce to protect their own when attack, but we're never the ones to start a fight. Slytherin, however…"

He trailed off, raising an eyebrow, and Hermione felt envious. She still hadn't mastered that skill.

"Snakes will strike when threatened," she said coolly. "Hannah and Susan are second-year girls. I hardly think anyone will flinch, so long as I bring them in blindfolded and make sure they don't know the password."

Cedric laughed uproariously at that.

"And _there_ is the Slytherin nature I've come to expect," he said. "Blindfolding and plugging their ears… Slytherin's paranoia never changes."

"It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you," Hermione snapped back. "The entire school hates us right now, convinced the Heir is among us and striking out."

Cedric sobered at that.

"Let's hope there isn't an Heir, and that this is all some horrible accident," he said gravely. "Maybe the monster got loose on its own, and this is all a tragic mistake."

"If it was just the monster," Hermione questioned, "then who painted the message on the wall in blood?"

Cedric didn't have an answer to that, and Hermione gave him a curt curtsy as she flounced away, returning to her own common room for the night.

* * *

"You're saying Winikus' family _stole_ him as a child?" Michael Corner repeated. "Just crept in and snatched him out of the crib?"

"That's what the rumors say," Hermione said. "Some of the rumors say they left some sort of replacement behind, something transfigured into a body for his muggle parents to find, but the Winickuses took Peter and have been raising him as their own pureblooded son all these years."

"A simulacrum, maybe," Terry Boot mused, toying with his quill. "I've read about them, but I'm fairly certain it takes Dark magic to make one."

"Would it surprise you that a family willing to _steal an infant_ would be willing to do Dark magic?" Anthony demanded. He turned to Hermione. " _I_ believe you, Hermione. Peter Winikus is a bad sort."

"Thank you," Hermione said to Anthony. "But I'm just repeating what I've heard. The rumors say that's why he's so terrified all the time, though he's trying to hide it."

"The rumors say so indeed," Luna mused aloud, as she practiced floating her quill above the table. She looked over at Hermione, giving her a small, secretive smile. "I'm sure he hides his terror very well."

Hermione fought to keep from rolling her eyes.

"Of course he does," she snapped. "If it gets out, he figures he's doomed – who would the Heir of Slytherin hate _more_ than a Muggleborn pretending to be a pureblood in the heart of his domain? It's only from the rest of us being around him all the time that we've been able to see him start to crack."

"Well, _I'm_ not surprised," Terry Boot announced. "With the pureblood families' birthrates being as poor as they are, I wouldn't be surprised if there were _more_ stolen Muggleborn babies being passed off as their own."

"You really think so?" Mandy asked, looking ill. "Do you think there are families out there stealing babies still?"

"You-Know-Who fell not all that long ago," Terry said gravely. "And we know not all of his followers were caught. They wouldn't have forgotten the Dark magic he might have taught them – like how to make a simulacrum of a baby's tiny body that they could lay into a muggle crib."

Terry and Anthony began arguing over whether or not it was likely for babies to be being stolen with regularity _—_ Anthony taking the position of if purebloods were so dead set on their blood being pure, they wouldn't pollute it with Muggleborns; Terry taking the counter position that pureblood culture was more about status and standing, and that any Dark pureblood family who needed an heir would be willing to do whatever necessary to ensure they had one. While they argued, Hermione glanced over at Luna, who was looking back at her serenely.

"Such dangerous rumors to spread, Hermione," she said. "I'm sure you've only trusted us with this because we're your friends."

Hermione gave Luna an annoyed look.

" _Exactly_ ," she emphasized. "I shared it because you are my _friends._ I would appreciate it if this information did not end up all over the school."

Luna waved her off casually, dismissive.

"I'll make sure it doesn't leave the house," she said airily, and not for the first time, Hermione wondered just how much Luna could See, and how much was her being preternaturally observant and uncannily canny.


	129. The Feint, Part 4

On Thursday evening, Hermione was ready.

She placed herself in the Slytherin common room openly in one of the central areas. Usually she studied or read off to the side, but today she claimed one of the main couches in the center of the room. Blaise had raised an eyebrow at her audacity – usually the nicer furniture was claimed by the older students – but had settled in next to her anyway. Tracey and Millie had claimed nearby armchairs, and they all started discussing Snape's latest Potions assignment and what a disaster class had been, with Neville nearly blowing up his cauldron.

Hermione subtly kept an eye on the rest of the room as they chatted, waiting.

She didn't have long to wait.

"What's _this?_ "

The cold, cruel tone of an over-entitled pureblood reached Hermione's ears, ever anticipated. Gathering herself together, Hermione stood slowly, meeting the eyes of Lilian Travers with a cold smile.

"Oh dear, I forgot," she said, her tone a conversational one. "I'm supposed to be sniveling on the floor, scared and cowering, aren't I?"

Lilian's eyes flared with anger.

"This area isn't for the likes of you," she snapped. "The older students sit here, and you know it."

"Oh, of course, of course," Hermione nodded. "I'm aware. I must have _forgotten my place_."

Her smile was oily as she gathered her belongings, her smile slowly unnerving Lilian as she did.

"You _don't_ know your place," Lilian snapped. She glared at Hermione's little group. "None of you. You're only second years."

"I'm sure that's all it is," Hermione said, smiling still, her eyes fixed on Lilian's. "It's just a matter of me being younger, isn't it?"

It was clear that Hermione's calm and lack of deference was enraging the older girl. A small crowd was gathering around, now – some of Lilian's friends, several whom had their faces forever emblazoned in Hermione's mind – and some of Hermione's classmates, Draco and Pansy and Daphne drifting over to hear what was going on.

"You're such a _brat_ ," Lilian said viciously. "You think you're so much better than us all — you'll get what's coming to you. You'll see!"

"Oh," Hermione said softly. "Will I, now?"

She took a step toward Lilian, and Lilian jerked abruptly, as if she had had to force herself not to take a step back. Hermione allowed her eyes to rest coolly on the little group that had gathered around Lilian – Alexia, Peter, Damon; familiar faces, all – before she allowed a cruel smile to touch her lips.

"Let's play a little game," Hermione said, smiling, though her eyes were cold and cruel. "It's called 'Which one of us will the Heir of Slytherin attack first?'"

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd, and Lilian's eyes had gone wide.

"I'll be on my side, and you all can be on one," Hermione said, gesturing to the cluster of three around Lilian. "Whoever gets attacked by the monster first loses, okay?"

"You're mad," Lilian said, her voice shaky. "You're _mad_."

"Am I?" Hermione wondered aloud. "You've told me several times now that I'll be next. I suppose it makes sense, to you – you're too thick to believe that I'm New Blood, and therefore the safest out of all of you – but you're a pureblood yourself, so why would you possibly be worried that you might be attacked? Surely you're confident of your _proper place in the world._ "

Damon Rowle shuddered once, violently, before stepping backwards.

"I'm out," he said, holding up his hands. "I want _nothing_ to do with this. Any of it. None."

He left the room quickly, just short of fleeing, and there was a whisper through the crowd as people watched him leave.

"So we'll say this, then," Hermione said, continuing. "The Heir of Slytherin will choose which of us is the stronger witch, or the better wizard. If I'm Petrified next, clearly you're better than me. But if one of _you_ is petrified next…" She let her words linger in the air, giving them an oily smile. "Well, then I guess we'll know who's truly unaware of who doesn't belong."

There was a murmur through the crowd, and Lilian's eyes darted around her, trapped. Hermione smirked to herself. There were around a dozen people watching, and if Lilian backed down now, she'd lose face to a second-year, and one she insisted was a trumped-up Muggle-born to boot.

"Fine," Lilian snapped. "You're on."

Lilian turned sharply to Alexia and Peter, both of whose eyes went wide. She clasped right hands with Alexia, almost as if they were going to arm wrestle in the air, and then clapped their left hands on top of their right. Lilian turned to Peter, repeating the gesture, before she turned to Hermione, her eyes burning.

"I agree to your bet," she said, fierce. "If you're Petrified next, you will leave the school and never bother us again."

"Agreed," Hermione said lazily. "But if any one of you three are Petrified next, you have to acknowledge that Magic itself has decided I'm better than you, and you have to treat me with _appropriate respect_ and deference going forward."

"Agreed," Lilian snapped. She stuck out her arm. "Let it be so."

Hermione clasped Lilian's arm the same way she'd seen Alexia do it. "So mote it be."

When they clapped their left hands on top of their right, there as a bright flash of lime green, and a murmur went through the crowd. Lilian's eyes widened in shock, but Hermione smiled in satisfaction.

"Be seeing you around, Lilian," Hermione murmured. "Unless, of course, you're Petrified. Then you won't be able to see anything, of course – wouldn't want you to be _blind…_ "

"Go boil your head," the older girl snapped at her, but Hermione only laughed as she walked away.

She was aware of the murmurs she left behind her even as she resisted the urge to turn around, but Blaise caught up to her a moment later, taking her arm and guiding her from the Slytherin common room. Hermione went along amicably, walking down the hallway to the abandoned classroom they sometimes studied in, Tracey and Millie's feet pattering on the stone behind them.

When they arrived, Blaise pushed everyone in before closing and locking the door.

"Want to tell me what _that_ was all about?" Blaise demanded, his eyes flashing. "Hermione, did you just _egg the Heir of Slytherin on?_ "

"I made a bet with Travers," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows. "We'll see which one of us the Heir attacks first."

"Are you _mad?_ " Tracey wanted to know. "Hermione, I get that you're confident in yourself, but are you _mad?_ "

"Not at all," Hermione said. She lifted herself up onto a tabletop, crossing her legs neatly. "Consider: if you were the Heir of Slytherin, lived in Slytherin House, and believed I wasn't New Blood, who would be the first person you would attack?"

Tracey frowned while Blaise flinched, but Millie shrugged.

"You," Millie said honestly. "You're the obvious target Hermione, really, with the controversy about your blood."

"My blood is not a controversy; there are just some people too dim to recognize the truth," Hermione said. "But regardless, consider: I haven't been attacked or Petrified yet, have I?"

Blaise frowned.

"Not unless there's something you're not telling us," he said warningly, and Hermione smirked.

"Fair," she admitted. "But no, I haven't been attacked. It's been a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff, not me."

"So?" Tracey demanded. "If the Heir gets wind of this bet…"

"The Heir isn't in Slytherin, and the Heir believes that I'm New Blood," Hermione said, sighing. "If the Heir hears of this, which I severely _doubt_ as I don't think word of this bet will leave Slytherin, the Heir will side with _me_. Either no one will be Petrified, as the Heir will think it's a silly, stupid bet, or one of Lilian's crew will be attacked."

Tracey looked worried and Millie looked skeptical, but Blaise was regarding Hermione with a careful, analytical eye.

"Some of the things you said in there," he said slowly. "They sounded awfully familiar."

"Oh?" Hermione said, tilting her head. "Did they?"

"Yes," Blaise said. "The bits about knowing your place. You said something similar to Rowle on the Quidditch pitch that night."

"Did I now…?" Hermione murmured.

"Rowle stormed out," Tracey recalled, remembering. "It almost looked like he was running away."

Blaise looked at Hermione, his eyes sharp.

"Did something happen, Hermione?" he asked. "Did Rowle and his friends do something to you?"

"Rowle and Travers and Pansy," Millie said suddenly. "Hermione said that Pansy had introduced her to Rowle. And Pansy was first – remember her getting hurt in Herbology, with her blood?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "Good memory."

Tracey made a shocked noise.

" _You_ did that," Tracey said in wonder. " _You_ made Pansy's blood look like troll blood?"

Hermione tried her best not to react, but she could feel her smile tugging wider.

"And you got Rowle, at Quidditch," Blaise said, looking her in the eye. "That's two down you've gotten revenge on, isn't it? How many more do you have to go?"

Hermione held up seven fingers and looked at them consideringly, before putting two down. That left her with five on her other hand, and she wiggled three of them back and forth.

"We'll have to see, won't we?" she murmured, and Blaise took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"Hermione," he said seriously. "What _happened_ to you that night?"

Abruptly, Hermione's smirk dropped from her face. The memory of the cold stone pressing into her face as she cowered on the floor roared up to consume her, and for a moment she could feel her clothes wet and sticky again, covered and drenched with blood.

She shuddered.

"Something bad," she said flatly. "Something very, very bad."

"Very, very bad?" Blaise repeated.

Hermione bit her lip, glancing around. She didn't want to go into detail – that night was a weakness and a trauma she didn't want to admit to or relive. But when she looked around, she only saw the faces of her concerned friends – not the faces of anyone who would use the knowledge against her.

She took a deep breath.

"If I hadn't learned basic healing spells from Madame Pomfrey by chance one day," she said quietly, "I might not be alive and here today."

It was interesting to watch their reactions. Tracey gasped and her eyes teared up, and she ran to Hermione to give her a hug. Millie looked disturbed and highly alarmed, while Blaise's eyes flared with anger and rage.

"They tried to _kill_ you?" Millie asked, horrified.

"I don't think they _tried_ to kill me, but they clearly didn't care if it happened," Hermione said dryly. "There was no way they could have missed the potentially fatal blood loss involved."

"This is what Potter was talking about, wasn't it?" Blaise said. "When 'Pansy and the others' bullied you?"

"I'm so sorry, Hermione!" Tracey cried, hugging her tightly. "I never knew their bullying had gotten so bad!"

"Of course you didn't know," Hermione said, hugging her back. "I never told you."

"Well, you _should_ have!" Tracey snapped. "We're your _friends_ , Hermione! We're here for you!"

"Did you tell Professor Snape?" Millie asked, looking vaguely ill. "If they… if they went so far…"

"I did," Hermione said.

"And…?"

"And he was very realistic and forthright with me," she told them. "He explained how the word of one unknown first year would stack up against the word of seven children from prominent pureblood families, all of whom arranged alibis ahead of time."

Millie closed her eyes and looked away, and Blaise looked even more furious.

"So you're doing it yourself?" he demanded. "You're extracting your revenge from them one by one on your own?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I couldn't report them because of their names," she said. "By the same notion, _they_ can't report _me,_ because then they'd be admitting that I'd bested them, which they can't do without shaming their name."

"No longer," Blaise vowed, and Hermione's eyes jerked to his, instantly angry.

"How _dare_ you?" she said, incensed. "I will handle my _own_ affairs however I deem, revenge or _not,_ and that you would _dare_ presume to tell me—"

"You will do it _alone_ no longer, Hermione," Blaise cut her off, his eyes holding hers. Hermione's protests faded away as he bowed to one knee in front of her, taking her hand and kissing the back. "I vow to help you against those that would harm you, and to never do you harm. I vow to—"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she twisted her hand and grabbed Blaise's, jerking him abruptly back up from the ground.

"You are _not_ swearing me an Oath of Fealty," she hissed, grabbing his collar and glaring, while Blaise laughed. "You are _not_ doing it, do you understand?"

Blaise's eyes glittered with amusement.

"Whatever are you speaking of, Hermione?" he asked, his tone one of innocence. "I was only swearing you an oath of protection."

"You were _not,"_ Hermione said sharply. "I know those words, and I know the words of the other oaths—"

"So maybe I ad-libbed a little," Blaise dismissed. "You can't expect me to remember the exact words of some archaic protection oath."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Blaise laughed.

"I'm not swearing you an Oath of Fealty," he told her. He turned her hand over in his and kissed the back of it, holding her eyes steady. "Not _today_ , at any rate."

His eyes were molten, his pupils dilated in the dim light, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Well, _I_ don't even know the Oath of Fealty," Tracey declared loudly, breaking the moment. "Is that a thing we're going to have to do?"

"I think that depends," Millie said, trying not to laugh at Tracey's indignation. "Right now, we're all Hermione's friends. But if you believe her prophecy, she'll begin to gather a following at some point, and I imagine we'll all fall under her 'followers' then."

"'Those who answer the call'," Hermione corrected.

"Whatever," Millie said, dismissive. "Call them what you like. Sounds like followers to me."

Tracey scowled.

"I don't like that," she said. She glared at Hermione. "I want to be your _friend,_ not your follower."

"I'm not _asking_ you to be my follower!" Hermione objected. "I'm _not!_ I just want to be your friend too!"

Tracey looked cautiously reassured by this.

"Besides," Blaise quipped, slinging an arm around Hermione in an overly-friendly manner. "Do you really think our Hermione here would set up a worshipful dictatorship like the Dark Lord did with _her_ followers? She'd have a careful meritocracy and hierarchy, there'd be a meeting agenda for each gathering, and there'd be a sign-up sheet of who would bring sweets and snacks each time—"

Hermione shoved him away, obviousy flustered, and Blaise stumbled back as Millie roared with laughter, Tracey dissolving into giggles.

"You _would_ have sign-up sheets. Admit it," Millie teased. "Everything would be color-coded in a special book."

Tracey giggled.

"Being a follower wouldn't be so bad if it involved making sweets and helping plan meetings," Tracey said, reassured. "I just don't want to go out at night in the dark killing people."

"I'm not _asking_ you to be a follower! And I'm _not_ asking you to _kill_ people!" Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. "Why would you think I'd _ever_ want you to kill people? Honestly, I've never cast a Dark spell in my _life!_ What kind of terrible person do you think I am, that I'd send you to skulk around in the dark and commit _murder?_ "

To her irritation, Tracey and Millie just continued to giggle, Blaise joining in on their laughter after he'd regained his balance.

"Admit it, Hermione," he said, grinning. "You've got a ruthless streak. You might not commit murder, but you just made a _bet_ on who would get attacked by the monster of Slytherin first."

"They deserve it," Hermione said hotly, tossing her hair. "And anyway, it's not like _I'm_ the one doing the attacking, you know?"

For some reason, that set them off again into another round of giggles and laughter, and no matter how much Hermione glared at them all, it only seemed to make it worse.


	130. The Polyjuice Prank

Homework was ratcheted up a notch as the semester neared its end, and Hermione and the rest of the second years found themselves writing essay after essay after essay. Hermione wondered why her professors assigned so many essays – surely they'd rather have the holiday to themselves and not have to read student papers? – but nevertheless, she toiled on.

The walls remained silent, still, with no further clues as to the monster or the Heir. As the cautious peace continued and no further attacks occurred, suspicion on Harry began to slacken as students were distracted with their school work and their holiday plans. Harry was noticeably more relaxed as a result, chatting much more freely, even being kind to Ginny from time to time, though she could still barely speak to him, so overwhelming was her obvious crush on him. Hermione was glad that Harry was resting a little easier, at the least – she knew what it felt like to feel so isolated, as she had been in her House at the beginning, and she didn't want to imagine what it felt like to feel so cut off from the rest of the school.

As students finished their essays and planned out their holiday plans, Hermione was pleased to find herself plotting out a new plan one evening, hidden away with Theo in their secret brewing room.

"It's ready," Theo said, testing the consistency again. "It'll keep, but we should use it soon."

Hermione couldn't stop smiling down at the Polyjuice Potion, despite its ominous burbling and disgusting-looking texture.

"Wednesday, then," she said. "Right before term ends."

* * *

Word went 'round the Slytherins, the second-years all gathering in the corner of the common room to plot together again. Draco was sitting up straight and looking serious, somehow the de facto leader of their little cabal.

"We are gathered to finish our plot," he said gravely. "Are we all prepared?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. If Draco paid attention, he'd have noticed everyone seemed _excited_ by participating in the plot, not anxious or worried. Even Pansy's eyes had an eager gleam of excitement and malice to them as they worked together and ironed out the final details of their plot.

The chosen evening, Hermione found herself with Theo preparing the doses of Polyjuice.

"Don't forget your promise," Theo warned her, and Hermione nodded, watching as Theo carefully ladled out a dose of Polyjuice potion into a prepared flask.

"I'm going to go put this away before you come in with the others," he told her. "I'll be back in a minute."

He vanished from the room, and Hermione regarded the remaining potion and the beakers they had prepared. She cast a careful glance after Theo, before carefully ladling the remaining potion from the cauldron.

A full cup of potion would give you 60 minutes of being another person. Instead, Hermione carefully measured four-fifths of a cup into each beaker, shorting each dose a fifth. Minus a fifth from each of the ten doses gave her ten doses of 48-minute Polyjuice potion, and two full doses to keep and hide for herself.

Hermione had no idea what she'd use the Polyjuice potion for, really. She had no plan at all. But she had the opportunity to grab some, and it seemed too good to pass up. Theo certainly hadn't missed the chance, had he?

She cleaned out the cauldron, filled it with water, and put it back on the fire. She'd boiled off the potion residue by the time Theo returned, and he looked over the doses, nodding approvingly.

"Do we all have clothes?" he asked. "Are you sure everyone is ready?"

"Tracey and I got clothes for everybody," Hermione reassured him. "And I got the hairs yesterday. Everything's in place, Theo – we'll be able to pull this off."

Theo smirked at her.

"In that case," he said, carefully taking the box that held all ten doses of Polyjuice potion, "what are we waiting for?"

* * *

Sue Li was telling a story to Lisa Turpin, with three other Ravenclaw girls surrounding her and listening, when Luna marched directly up to her.

"Sue," Luna said. "Give me back my tie."

The little crowd tittered, and Sue Liu cocked an eyebrow.

"Your tie?" she said.

"My Ravenclaw House tie," Luna said, meeting Sue Li's gaze directly, unflinching. "I know you stole it."

Lisa Turpin looked rather surprised by this turn of events, but Sue Li only smirked.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," she said lazily. "You're so air-headed, Luna – are you sure you're keeping track of your things?"

"If you won't give me back my tie," Luna said, ignoring the jibe, "then I'll take yours!"

Sue Li was completely unprepared for Luna to run at her and jump into her, viciously tackling her to the ground. Sue Li screamed and tried to fight her off, but Luna had been ready and ripped the tie from Sue Li's neck as soon as her fingers got the knot undone. She took off running down the hallway, and Sue Li leapt to her feet, screeching.

"Get her!"

There was a patter of feet as the five Ravenclaw girls chased Luna. They chased her through several corridors and down two flights of stairs, Sue Li's burning indignation and rage fueling them as they gave chase, yelling out jeers and threats at Luna.

Abruptly, they caught up with Luna, who had trapped herself in a dark dead-end, in a corridor that didn't connect to another. Luna whirled around, watching them approach, and the five girls smiled as they stalked closer to their prey.

"Well, well, well," Sue Li said softly. "It looks like you're surrounded. Maybe you'd better give me back my tie, Lovegood."

Luna squared her shoulders and glared at her defiantly. "No."

Sue Li laughed.

"Oh, the little girl thinks she can fight, does she?" she said, sharing a smirk with her compatriots. The five girls all withdrew their wands. "Are we going to have a little wizard's duel, now?"

Luna bravely withdrew her wand, glaring at them all.

"Oh, dear," Sue Li said, voice laden with mocking sadness. "You seem to be outnumbered. Oh well."

The five all raised their wands, ready to cast, but abruptly, Luna smiled nastily.

"Outnumbered?" she said. "That seems like a _brilliant_ idea, you foul, horrid little bitch."

Luna slashed her wand through the air violently, and there was a blast of blinding light, and the five Ravenclaw girls cried out, covering their eyes. When their vision cleared a moment later, they advanced on Luna angrily, only to stop short.

There were ten Lunas now, surrounding them in a circle.

Ten identical Luna Lovegoods, all aiming their wands directly at the girls who had bullied Luna for so long.

"Oh, dear," one of the Lunas said.

"You seem to be outnumbered," another Luna mimicked.

The last Luna smiled, a nasty smile.

"Oh well," she intoned, shrugging.

She raised her wand, malice glinting in her blue eyes, and Sue Li barely had time to raise her own wand to defend herself before the army of Lunas descended.


	131. The Polyjuice Aftermath

**CW: Involuntary exposure**

* * *

"This is outrageous!" Professor Flitwick cried out. "Albus, this cannot happen!"

"These girls are accusing an innocent witch!" Professor McGonagall threw back, her face contorted in a fury. "These girls _broke into_ the Gryffindor Common Room and tried to attack my students!"

Hermione watched as McGonagall stormed around the room, fuming. Professor Flitwick stood nearby, angry and shaken, though he tried to look stern.

The room was rather crowded. A large group of them had been dragged up to Dumbledore's office in the aftermath that followed the chaos of five young girls running through the halls and into the Great Hall during dinner, fully nude, chasing after their clothes as their robes danced through the air just out of their reach. The resulting pandemonium had been spectacular to behold, apparently – Hermione wished that she could have seen it, but of course, she hadn't been there.

Luna Lovegood stood serenely with Ginny Weasley, who looked shaken but curious, wide-eyed as she watched. Sue Lu, Lisa Turpin, Orla Quirke, Yutaka Amano, and Becky Arncliffe all stood near Flitwick, their clothes rumpled and hastily thrown back on, their faces still red from humiliation. Hermione and Draco Malfoy stood near Professor Snape, both being careful to keep their faces neutral as they watched the chaos unfold.

Hermione idly wondered if this was the highest number of students ever in Dumbledore's office simultaneously before.

Albus Dumbledore looked over them all with stern eyes.

"Let us get to the bottom of this, then," he said. He looked to the Ravenclaw girls. "What happened?"

Sue Li was still too shaken and too angry to verbalize anything, so Lisa Turpin stepped forward.

"We," she said, gesturing to the five of them, "were talking in the hallway when Luna Lovegood came up to us. She started accusing us of stealing her House tie, and when Sue said she hadn't, Luna attacked Sue and stole her House Tie off her."

" _Attacked_ her?" McGonagall said incredulously, glancing down at Luna, who was playing with her radish earrings serenely.

"Tackled her and stole it from her neck," Lisa clarified. "She then ran off, and we ran after her."

"Did you now," Snape murmured.

"When we finally had her cornered in a dead-end corridor – you know, to make her give the tie back – Luna cast some spell, and all of a sudden, there were _ten_ of Luna there, all with wands, and they started blasting us with spells!"

" _Ten_ of her?" Flitwick repeated, in tones of bafflement, and Lisa nodded vigorously.

"Yes! So then we dueled, only we were outnumbered two to one. All the Lunas were vicious, casting all kinds of awful curses at us–"

"What kind of curses, Miss Turpin?" Snape interrupted silkily, and Lisa paused.

"Um, normal ones, I guess?" she ventured. "Bat-bogey hexes, the pimple jinx, _Furnunculus_ a few times… someone cast one that made Orla start belching slugs, and one of the Lunas hit Yutaka with something that made her teeth grow past her chin."

Snape's eyes flickered over to Yutaka, who was still hiding the bottom of her face with her robes, and Orla, who still seemed to look faintly green.

"I see," he said. "Please continue."

"So after the Lunas all just _unloaded_ curses and hexes and jinxes on us, there was another bright flash, and then Lunas were all one Luna again, just standing there looking at us," Lisa said, her tone quaking. "Then she… err…"

"Then she did what, Miss Turpin?" Dumbledore prodded.

"She… well, Luna loses her things all the time, and she'd been blaming _us_ for her lost things, claiming we were taking them and hiding them on her, so she said that because _her_ clothes were always escaping her and lost all the time, that perhaps we should have _our_ clothes lost _too._ " Lisa swallowed. "Then she cursed our clothes off of us, so we were all naked, and sent our clothes flying through the hallways. We had no choice but to chase after them, with her just standing there, laughing at us the whole time."

"And this is where we had five young girls run into the Great Hall during dinner in various states of disarray," Dumbledore said. His eyes flicked over to Luna, who was still standing serenely with Ginny Weasley. "Miss Lovegood, where were you this evening?"

"I was studying Transfiguration with Ginny since after classes ended," Luna said. "I didn't think I'd done very well on our last test, and Ginny said we could review a bit and maybe I could ask McGonagall if I could retry it tomorrow if I thought I really did that badly."

McGongall looked puzzled and glanced down at Luna.

"You did fine, dear," she told her, and Luna blinked up at her.

"Oh, did I?" her voice was an airy lilt. "I thought I got points off for the tea cup not matching the saucer."

"You did, but very few," McGonagall said. "You still managed the Transfiguration successfully, dear."

"She was _not!_ " Becky broke out. She pointed at Luna accusingly. "She was cursing us in the hallway! I _saw_ her!"

"She was _not!_ " Ginny said fiercely. "She was with _me!_ " She looked up at McGonagall. "You can ask anyone! We've been in the common room for hours! You can ask the Fat Lady, or Percy, or anyone!"

"Miss Weasley is telling the truth," McGonagall told Dumbledore. "The Fat Lady assures me that both girls have been inside the common room all evening. Dinner hours were extended today, and they hadn't yet left to attend."

"That's impossible!" Sue Li burst out. She was still shaking, her face purpled with rage.

"And yet, it is not," Dumbledore murmured. "And yet, both scenarios are clearly true."

" _Both_ of them true?" Sue Li demanded. " _How?_ "

Dumbledore's eyes flickered over to Snape.

"I was hoping your students might help elucidate that matter for us, Severus," Dumbledore said.

"I fail to see how or why," Snape drawled. "As I said when you requested their presence, my students were playing Exploding Snap together, along with the rest of their classmates."

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore said. "Miss Granger is a close friend of Miss Lovegood, and she might be able to shed some light on the situation."

Draco shot Hermione a sharp look, to which Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well, seeing as _I wasn't there_ , I can hardly offer any real input into this," Hermione said. "All the second year Slytherins were playing cards together as a way to blow of steam after exams. However, if I were to _guess_ what could have happened, it sounds like Sue Li and her little crew got their comeuppance for torturing Luna all semester."

"We got _what?_ " Lisa Turpin demanded, and Hermione gave her a dismissive look.

"Your comeuppance," she repeated. "Everyone _knows_ that you five have teased Luna something _awful_ this year and that you were stealing her things. Ginny and I came to your Common Room to help Luna find everything of hers a month or so ago. You weren't exactly subtle about your torture."

"That's a _lie!_ " Lisa burst out. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Sue Li shoved her, making her fall silent, glaring at Hermione.

"And after your Head of House did _nothing_ to stop your bullying," Hermione said, her eyes sliding over Professor Flitwick, "only encouraged you all to 'get along', it seems that someone took exception to your treatment of Luna and wanted to put a stop to it."

"You seem to have a keen insight as to what happened, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "Why might that be?"

"Deducing a motive when it's obvious isn't 'keen insight'," Hermione sniffed. "They bullied Luna; an apparition of Luna fought back. That's fairly obvious to me, _Professor_."

Draco stifled a snort; Snape shot him a sharp look.

"Regardless of reasons behind the attack, the face of the matter remains that these girls were attacked," Dumbledore said, "by ten copies of Miss Lovegood."

"Surely you don't believe this drivel, Headmaster?" Snape drawled. " _Ten_ of Miss Lovegood? The world can scarcely stomach _one_. And unless there has been a breakthrough development in magical charms and cloning techniques, what these girls describe is impossible."

"And yet," Dumbledore said calmly, "I believe what they say happened."

Hermione and Draco exchanged a dark look.

"There are other ways this might have happened, Severus," Dumbledore told him, giving him a significant look. "Both Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy are particularly innovative when it comes to magic, I am told."

"I know what you are implying, Albus, and I have no knowledge of them doing anything of the sort," Snape said flatly. "Not only would that be _highly_ beyond the skillset of second-years, but surely they would have come to _me_ for help _,_ the resident Potions Master and their Head of House."

"Is that so?" Surprise flickered across Dumbledore's face.

"Albus, am I to understand you suspect Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy of these nefarious deeds?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Severus said they had an alibi!"

"They say they were playing Exploding Snap, along with the rest of their second-year class," Dumbledore acknowledged, "all _ten_ of them."

There was a pause.

"Am I to understand," McGonagall said finally, "that you suspect _second-years_ of transfiguring themselves into copies of Luna Lovegood, cursing these girls with all sorts of difficult hexes, and _banishing_ their clothing?"

"I thought we don't learn banishing until fourth year," Luna commented, looking at Professor Flitwick.

Flitwick shrugged helplessly. "You don't," he admitted.

"Are you accusing us of anything, Headmaster?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, are you?" Draco wanted to know. "If I'm being unjustly accused of something, I want to summon my father. He's a School Governor – I'm sure he'd come up here and help us sort all this out."

"Nobody is accusing anyone of anything," Dumbledore assured them, moving away from his desk into the center of the room. "Not just yet."

He glanced at Hermione, who met his eyes defiantly, and abruptly, she was awash in a blaze of fire, being burned alive.

It was as if she was trapped in a sandstorm of fire, flames swirling around her and blowing by her, flickering and burning across her skin. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't being harmed, and despite the pain, somehow the pain didn't actually _hurt_. She could barely see through the blaze of flickering flames, but when she did, it was to see pale, bespectacled blue eyes attempting to peer through the haze of fire at her.

A moment later she was back on her feet, shaken, and Hermione subtly clutched Snape's arm hard to maintain her balance. Snape shifted, as if he had been the one who caused her to move, and Hermione braced herself as Dumbledore took another step forward to glance at Draco.

Now, suddenly, she was plunged into icy cold water encased in ice, a thick sheet of polar glacier separating her from the Headmaster, whose eyes she could fuzzily make out on the other side. She watched as the Headmaster blinked a few times in surprise, before abruptly Hermione was on her feet again, dry and able to breathe.

"What a mystery we seem to have on our hands," Dumbledore was murmuring, as Hermione attempted to collect herself.

"Indeed." Snape's tone was dry.

Dumbledore surveyed them all for a few long moments.

"Miss Li, Miss Turpin, and Misses Quirke, Amano, and Arncliffe," he finally said, turning to the Ravenclaw girls. "Miss Lovegood's story has been verified by several independent sources. Please know that although I understand why you suspect her of attacking you, she did not."

Sue Li scowled but stayed silent.

"Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore said, turning to her. "I understand you are innocent. I apologize for the suspicion, but I trust you understand why the circumstances demanded it."

"Oh, sure, Professor," Luna said, her blue eyes wide and guileless. "I would have suspected me too. Though, I don't know how to turn myself into more than one person…" She trailed off, looking at the ceiling. "That would certainly make homework go faster, and wouldn't really be cheating, would it, if they're all of me?"

"Human duplication isn't possible, Miss Lovegood," Professor Flitwick gently chided, and Luna blinked at him.

"Oh," she said sadly. "That would have been a fun thing to know."

Dumbledore turned to face the Slytherin contingent, Snape staring him down with a raised eyebrow.

"I seem to remember us being in a similar situation not all that long ago," Snape said, folding his arms, "where it was three _Gryffindors_ under suspicion, Headmaster. And what was it you said then?"

Dumbledore suddenly looked very old.

"'Innocent until proven guilty, Severus'," he said, and it took Hermione a moment to realize Dumbledore was quoting himself. With a last look over her and Draco, Dumbledore nodded. "You all may go."

"Don't know why I was under suspicion in the _first_ place," Draco grouched.

"Albus, this is madness!" Flitwick objected. "We can't just give up and stop investigating! Five of my students were attacked!"

Snape was pressing gently on her and Draco's backs, trying to lead them out, but anger flared within Hermione, and she stepped around to look at Flitwick.

"If I might make a suggestion?" she said delicately.

All eyes turned to her, and she drew herself up.

"Terrible attacks have been happening all over the school with no known cause, and all us terrified students have been told to just accept it and carry on," Hermione said, folding her arms.

"None of _your_ house has been attacked," Lisa Turpin interrupted.

" _Yet._ " Hermione shot Lisa a nasty look. "At least with _this_ attack, your students are still conscious, cogent, and moving. And this one, unlike the other attacks, has a clear, preventable solution – _don't allow your students to bully each other again_."

"I don't appreciate your tone, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick said, upset.

"My apologies, Professor," Hermione said, bowing her head. "Forgive me; I am just frustrated from seeing my dear friend harassed _countless_ times over the semester with her Head of House not helping." She glanced to Luna. "Perhaps in her helplessness, Luna's magic reached out in her sleep and spoke to the magic of Hogwarts, which decided such injustice could not go unpunished."

Flitwick made a sort of surprised squawking noise, and Snape grabbed Hermione by her collar.

"Well put, Miss Granger," he said silkily. He nodded to Flitwick. "I will leave you to handle your charges, Filius. Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, with me."

Snape led them down from the Headmaster's tower by means of a stone spiraling staircase that ground against the rest of the castle. Giving both of them a sharp look, Snape led them down back into the dungeons. He passed the Slytherin common room, and Hermione and Draco exchanged a look as he led them to his office.

With a wand gesture, the door unlocked, and Snape opened it.

"Inside."

Hermione and Draco went inside.

The room was dark for a moment until the torches and candles sprang to life, and Hermione was surprised to see that there were still two chairs in front of his desk – the original one, and the one she had duplicated. It was convenient, she mused as she took one, as Draco took the other, now that there happened to be two students here.

Snape sat down in his chair behind his desk. He regarded them both for a long moment, eyes glittering.

"Miss Granger," he said. "Mister Malfoy. Would either of you care to _explain?_ "

Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Whatever weirdness happened tonight, sir, might have been strange, but we're certainly not _upset_ by it," Draco said carefully, looking at Hermione. "Luna Lovegood is under Slytherin's protection. If the Spirit of Slytherin manifested inside Hogwarts and decided to protect her—"

"Cut the act," Snape snapped. "I know it was you two."

He glared at them both, and Hermione fought not to flinch.

" _Explain_ ," he said again, gritting his teeth, and Hermione figured it was her turn now.

"With all due respect, sir," she ventured, "wouldn't you prefer to maintain plausible deniability?"

Snape's eyes widened slightly, before narrowing at her thoughtfully.

"Albus has already gotten what he could from us," Snape said carefully. "I do not anticipate him attempting to accuse or interrogate any of us again. But nevertheless, Miss Granger…." His eyes slid to Hermione, who squirmed under his gaze, "…even if he _did_ , I assure you, a Master Occlumens would not need 'plausibility deniability' to keep the Headmaster from knowing what he knew."

"Oh," said Hermione. "I didn't think of that."

"You mean we could have asked you for help this whole time?" Draco said, his jaw hanging open. He turned to look accusingly at Hermione. "You said he couldn't know!"

" _Knowing_ what students are doing and _actively endorsing_ it are two different things, Draco," Hermione informed him. She turned back to Snape, nodding at him respectfully. "Though Professor Snape may quietly _approve_ of what we did, I suspect by virtue of his position he could not have _helped_ us with it if he knew."

Snape raised his eyebrows.

"You _are_ a savvy little thing, aren't you, Miss Granger?" His sarcasm was cutting. "Draco, Miss Granger is correct – I cannot _help_ you misbehave if I know you are misbehaving."

"Even if it's for the honor of Slytherin House?" Draco pressed.

"He can _protect_ us, but we have to do the work," Hermione told him. "It's like Jade said the first night here – rule number two is ' _don't get caught_ '. So long as he has plausible deniability, he'll protect us."

Snape gave Hermione an odd look.

"Is _that_ the welcome speech that Miss Rince has been giving the first years?" he asked dryly.

Hermione winced.

"Well, it works?" she ventured. "Us not getting caught makes your life much easier, doesn't it, Professor?"

Snape looked at them both for a long moment before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly.

"Now is not the time to discuss such matters," he said. "Now is the time for you to _explain_."

Draco glanced at Hermione.

"Um. It seems like you've already figured it out, sir," Draco said. "We made the Polyjuice Potion, and we got all of the second years to—"

"You _made_ it?" Snape said sharply. "You didn't _get_ it?"

"Draco misled you about the letter from his father," Hermione said, wincing. "Theo and I made the potion together in an abandoned classroom in the lower levels."

Snape closed his eyes and pinched his nose.

"Of _course_ you did," he said. His eyes flickered open. "How did you get the recipe?"

"Conned Lockhart into signing a pass for the Restricted Section," Hermione said promptly.

Draco snickered, and even Snape's eyes glinted at that.

"And you two were able to prepare it successfully?" he questioned.

"It went perfectly," Hermione said, proud. "It was difficult, but everything worked masterfully. I duplicated copies of Luna's robes and tie and clothes, and we were all ready at the same time. We sent Pansy out ahead to lure them into the confrontation, hit them with a Dazzling Hex as we all jumped out from a classroom, and dueled them. At the end, we just hit them with another Dazzling Hex as everyone hid back inside again, and I Banished their clothes at the end."

"I thought I detected the flair of your magic when their clothes came fluttering into the Great Hall on a breeze," Snape commented, and Hermione flushed. "I presume you just asked Miss Lovegood for the hairs?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "She just cleaned her brush out. It was easy, really."

Snape looked at them both for another moment.

"Dueling in the halls and stripping your classmates naked are definitively against the rules," he said finally. "I do not want to hear of any such accusations against you again, do you understand?"

 _I do not want to_ _ **hear**_ _any such accusations_ , her mind echoed his words. "I understand completely, sir," she said promptly. "You won't _hear_ of any such accusations again, I assure you."

Snape's eyes glinted, letting her know he'd understood her understanding, and he turned to Draco. "And you?"

"I got it, I got it," Draco grumbled. "No getting caught again, I know."

"That is _not_ what I said."

"And we didn't get _caught_ ," Hermione objected, giving Draco a dirty look. "We were _under suspicion_."

"And you are _very lucky_ that the two Slytherins the Headmaster decided to summon and pin his suspicions on are the two Slytherins that just so _happen_ to be immune to the Headmaster's casual mind probes," Snape said pointedly.

Hermione bit her lip, while Draco shrugged carelessly.

"What?" he said. "Like he was going to call in Goyle?"

Snape's lips twitched, and Hermione stifled a giggle.

"Regardless," Snape said. His eyes gleamed. "That was impressive magic Slytherin House displayed tonight. I would give you House Points, but I would be called upon to explain what they were for."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, flushing with pleasure. Snape was pleased with her again, and even if it _was_ for committing revenge and not getting caught, his approval made her feel warm and happy.

"Thank you, sir," Draco said, nodding. "Can we go?"

"You are dismissed," Snape acknowledged. "Have a good holiday, you two."

Draco and Hermione made their way back to the common room, where the rest of their class promptly descended upon them.

"Did they get you?" Theo demanded. "Did Dumbledore know?"

Hermione gave Theo a mischievous smile.

"He _suspected_ ," she said, "but he could neither find nor prove _anything_."

Theo looked impressed and suspicious, but the rest of her classmates let out a cheer.

"Oh, we were convinced you were doomed when Snape stormed in to grab the two of you!" Tracey said, grabbing Hermione's hands. "We were so anxious – why would we be suspected at all to start with?"

"Because we're Slytherins, Tracey," Millie said, folding her arms. "Isn't that always it, with Dumbledore?"

"That was brilliant, though," Blaise said, grinning. "Did you _see_ the looks on their faces when we all jumped out?"

"Orla just about pissed herself—!"

"I never heard girls scream like that before!"

"I got to hex Sue Li, that righteous _bitch_ —"

Hermione and Draco looked out over the cacophony of their classmates happily reliving their victory, before they exchanged a look and a smile together. It was a nice feeling, Hermione reflected; she felt like she'd led her classmates to a momentous victory in battle, as if they'd fought a tiny war against the bullying Ravenclaw girls. And the whole class had united together for a common cause, to boot.

Yes, Hermione reflected, smiling at all her classmates, even exchanging a smirk with Pansy. Being a successful leader felt _good_.

* * *

Eight hours later, Lilian Travers was found petrified in the hall outside the Slytherin dungeons, and all hell broke loose.


	132. The Fallout Gossip

**A/N: Despite the cliffhanger, if you're marathoning this, this is another good place to take a break. Get up, stretch, get some water, and rest your eyes for a minute. Or - if you are reading this long into the night - go to _bed_. We'll wait for you to sleep and rejoin us once you're rested. :)**

* * *

In her time at Hogwarts, Hermione had observed that rumors and gossip tended to spread in the corners and within the shadows, where others couldn't see secrets being traded and shared. A rumor would get loose and fly like a catching flame, but you'd never see the fire of its glow, only the burned devastation left in its wake.

It was very different, seeing rumors fly about wildly on the Hogwarts Express.

Students were running from compartment to compartment, people darting around to see who had the latest news or newest theories. Hermione watched with fascination. It was interesting to see who the gossip points of the school were, and who got to the truth the quickest.

The facts were thus:

Lilian Travers had been found in a corridor near the Slytherin dungeons, alone. She had been Petrified, stiff as a board on the ground next to a giant suit of armor from long ago. There had been sweets and tarts scattered around her on the floor, leading many to believe she had snuck out to the kitchens to get treats from the House Elves in the middle of the night. No one knew if the staff had interrogated the House Elves yet, as everyone had been hurried off to go home on the Hogwarts Express shortly after waking, but _everyone_ knew that Lilian Travers, a _pureblood_ , had been attacked.

The news travelled like wildfire – no one expected a _pureblood_ to be attacked, after all. The story was too incredible, too terrifying for everyone _not_ to know. Ernie Macmillan in particular suddenly seemed terrified, convinced he would be the next one to be attacked. The Ravenclaws seemed to be endlessly discussing it, wondering if there was a detectable magical quantifier that a monster could sense or sniff out that the monster attacked people based on.

Two houses reacted distinctly differently than the others, though, Hermione observed. Just as they should.

Many of the Gryffindors, for _some_ reason, though they all seemed shocked and reacted with horror at the news that someone had been attacked, didn't seem _surprised_ when they learned _Lilian_ had been the one attacked. All of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw displayed surprise at a Travers being the victim, but the Gryffindors were more focused on the _what_ and _how_ of the attack rather than the _who._

Slytherin was the quietest about the attack. Lilian was one of theirs; they had all known what had happened shortly after she had been found. They all knew all the facts, and everyone in the House seemed to have one of two reactions:

The first was horror. Many of the older Slytherins who knew Lilian well and were purebloods themselves reacted with terror. Slytherin's Heir and Slytherin's Monster attacking one of their _own?_ They'd never imagined there'd be a risk to _them_ , and now that the attacks were hitting closer to home, suddenly _everything_ about the attacks mattered, and it was no longer a trifling issue to be ignored. Older students were talking about informing their parents and putting pressure on the Headmaster and the Board of Governors to make sure the monster was caught over the break before the students returned.

The second reaction was… subtler.

Hermione hadn't been quiet when she made her bet with Lilian about who would be Petrified next, but she hadn't shouted it either. There had been enough people around for it to be overheard, and enough of those people had repeated it to others, at least in the lower years. And now, with Lilian petrified…

Well. Hermione was certainly getting looks of suspicion crossed with reverence, which she counted as a win.

She hadn't seen Alexia or Peter anywhere (not that she could blame them). Slytherin rumors said that they were hiding in one of the back compartments on the train. Another Slytherin rumor said that they'd stayed at the castle in the Hospital Wing to watch over Lilian until their parents came to get them in person, to make sure they were protected from the monster roaming the halls. Hermione didn't care either way, so long as they were both properly terrified.

While people were running around the train, whispering and spreading the story, Hermione watched from her compartment. The gossip network was spread out plainly in front of her, and it was _fascinating_ to behold.

Millie sat with her in her compartment. Blaise and Tracey had both abandoned the compartment, being some of those who flitted about the train to get the latest gossip, which didn't surprise Hermione in the slightest. What she _didn't_ expect was Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones to slide into her compartment about halfway through the journey, closing the door behind them.

"Millie," Hannah said, offering her a smile. She looked to Hermione and nodded. "Hermione. Good to see you again."

"Likewise," Hermione said, surprised. She gestured to the empty bench. "Please, join us."

"Thank you." Hannah seemed to relax a bit as they sat down. Susan seemed on edge, though her face was carefully neutral. It was a subtle discomfort, one Hermione would never have caught a year ago, but being in Slytherin had honed her instincts on catching the subtleties.

Hannah looked at Hermione, almost expectantly, as if she had a question, but she didn't say anything.

"What can I help you with today?" Hermione finally asked. She doubted they just came to chat, no matter if they _were_ Millie's friends or not.

Hannah gave Millie a sideways glance. "Well… Millie said you had those sheets, you know… and with all the homework and chaos going on, we were never able to make it to the dungeons…"

"Oh! Of course, of course."

Hermione pulled down her trunk from the luggage rack, rummaging in it for her folder of carefully-prepared cosmetic pages and handing it to them.

"I know Millie told you this, but don't spread word of this to others," she warned them, stuffing things back into her trunk. "I don't want anyone to get in trouble."

Hannah and Susan nodded quickly, taking the pages and looking over them, murmuring and oohing at the images. They looked excited, and Hermione relaxed once again.

"How do we get things?" Hannah asked.

"There's a little sheet with prices and codes," Hermione said, pointing to one of the papers at the bottom. "Just write what you want on a parchment, and I'll send it in for you."

"Okay."

Hermione watched as Hannah went through the pages and wrote down her order on a slip of parchment before setting it aside and turning to Susan. Murmuring quietly, Susan pointed at things on various pages as they flipped through them all again, and Hannah wrote them down for her.

Hermione blinked.

That was… odd.

"Susan," Hermione said. "Are you alright?"

Susan's eyes darted up to hers, alert.

"I'm fine," Susan said, her voice tight. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"You're not writing your own order," she pointed out. "I wondered if you'd hurt your hand or something."

Susan's face turned red and she looked angry, and Hannah gave Hermione a dirty look.

"Susan has difficulty reading sometimes." Hannah glared at her. "Don't make it into a big deal."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised. She turned to Susan. "You got fairly high marks last year, I thought."

"I'm _good_ at magic," Susan said, giving Hermione a murderous look. "I just… I'm not as good at the written stuff is all."

"How so?"

"She doesn't want to talk about it," Hannah snapped. "Leave her be."

"I'm not trying to be rude," Hermione said defensively, holding her hands up. "I'm just curious. I've never heard of reading difficulties in the wizarding world. Do you have dyslexia?"

Susan blinked. "Dis-a- _what?_ "

"Dyslexia," Hermione repeated patiently, glancing at Millie, who was watching on curiously. "It's a learning disability. In Muggle schools, they diagnose it in students and help provide different sorts of materials to help them better learn."

"…there's a _name_ for it?"

"It's a condition," Hermione said carefully. "It sounds like maybe what you have."

Susan's eyes were bright, her voice soft. "You mean, this might not be just a 'me being stupid' thing?"

"You're clearly not _stupid_ , Susan," Hermione chided. "No one dumb can pull off what you can do with a wand."

Susan looked bolstered by her comments, though Hannah was still looking at Hermione with something akin to suspicion.

"Tell me what it's like when you try and read," Hermione pushed gently. "When I'm home for the break, I can look into what they do to treat dyslexia, and maybe we can get you help."

Susan looked cautiously encouraged, and slowly, she began to speak.

"I have trouble reading," she said. "If the words are normal-sized, they're out of focus and hard to read. Sometimes the parchment seems too bright, and sometimes they kind of swim." She paused. "My aunt took me to get my eyes checked, but they didn't find anything wrong with them."

Hermione frowned.

"Do you have any trouble spelling?" she asked. "Can you write okay?"

"I can write short things mostly alright, but essays are harder," Susan admitted. "The letters and words kind of lift off the page."

Hermione was baffled. It didn't sound like dyslexia as she knew it – that mostly involved words and letters and numbers getting mixed up if she remembered correctly, not visually warping before one's eyes.

"We think she might have gotten hit by some kind of curse as a child," Hannah ventured. "Susan was too young to remember, but it would make sense, if she were grazed by some kind of blindness hex."

"That doesn't make sense," Hermione frowned. "Then it would affect her all the time, not just when she's reading."

"But you can look into it?" Susan asked. She looked at Hermione, eager, and for the first time, Hermione thought she saw the _real_ Susan – not the Susan carefully hidden behind a stubborn façade. "Muggles have a treatment, you think?"

"I'll look into it," Hermione promised. "It can't hurt, can it?"

Susan's eyes brightened, and she smiled at Hermione.

" _Thank you_ ," Susan said emphatically, her eyes brimming with hope. "I've… you have no idea how much I would love to be able to read again."

Hermione blushed slightly.

"Don't get your hopes up too much," she warned her. "I might not find anything."

"But you're trying," Susan said. She offered her a small smile. "That's more than anyone else has done in a long time."


	133. Madame Malkin's

Hermione's parents were happy to see her at King's Cross, and Hermione was thrilled to see her parents. Her mother swept her up in a hug while her father ruffled her hair, getting his hand stuck in the process. They laughed as they went to the car, Hermione chatting happily about her term so far.

"It's good to hear you're making more friends," her mother said, smiling. "We were worried, you know."

Hermione made a face. "I have _many_ friends now. I even have different _groups_ of friends."

"Oh?" her father said, getting into the car. Hermione climbed into the back seat and buckled herself in, missing her father's wink at her mother. "Like what?"

"Like Blaise, Millie, and Tracey are all my Slytherin friends," Hermione said. "We all hang out in the evenings and in classes. Then I have my Gryffindor friends, Harry and Neville, and I guess Ron, now, now that he's not being a berk…"

Her father coughed, though it sounded more like a snort of laughter.

"…and then I have my coven," Hermione finished. "And that's Harry, Blaise, Luna, and me so far, though I need to pick another."

"Didn't you already say a couple of those names?" Hermione's mother asked.

"Well, there's a little crossover," Hermione admitted. "But still!"

"A coven," her father mused. "Is that a special witchy thing?"

"It's a group of witches and wizards who practice ritual magic together," Hermione said promptly. "The circle-and-candle kind, like we did to protect the house over the summer."

"Oh, how nice!" Her mother smiled. "Did you get to pick your groups, or were they assigned?"

Hermione blinked in confusion, her mother's words taking a moment to make sense.

"Ah– it's not a class thing," Hermione clarified. "Wands replaced rituals a long time ago. This is just an extracurricular thing I'm doing with my friends."

"And your professors are okay with you lot cutting yourselves and bleeding all over the school?" her father asked dryly, casting a glance back at her in the rearview mirror.

"It's not _like_ that!" Hermione objected. "…well, maybe a little. But I got us a faculty advisor and everything! And we've already learned how to talk to snakes!"

 _That_ got her parents' attention.

"You can talk to snakes?" her mother repeated, her eyes wide.

"How on earth do snakes talk?" her father wanted to know. "They don't have any lips."

"It's… err… it's hard to explain." Hermione paused. "It's… it's like the ritual magically dumped the snake language into our heads. When I speak to them, it sounds like I'm hissing, not like the snake is speaking English."

Both of her parents looked impressed.

"Even though I _know_ you're off at school studying magic, you still manage to surprise me," her mother said, smiling. "It's good to see you blossom like this."

Hermione flushed.

"It's only because I've finally found where I belong," she admitted. "I always felt out of place in primary school."

"Well, we miss you like mad," her mother said, her eyes a bit wet, "but we're happy you've found your place, dear."

Hermione couldn't agree more.

* * *

Hermione's plan for holiday shopping was complicated by her parents' inability to get away from work until the weekend, when Diagon Alley was _packed_ with shoppers. Hermione's parents accompanied her, clad in their robes to blend in, and to her dismay, they weren't letting her out of their sight, intent on running their own errands with her before they'd let her free to shop.

"I _know_ you don't want to, but you need new robes, Hermione," her mother chided her. "You're not a little girl anymore."

"I've stopped my growth spurt, though," Hermione said, trying to keep a whining tone out of her voice. "They're all still long enough."

Her mother gave her a sharp look.

"They're too _tight_ on you, Hermione," she said. "You're developing into a young woman, you know, and you need to dress accordingly."

Her mother marched her off to Madame Malkin's to be fitted for new clothes while her father went exploring in Diagon Alley, and Hermione resigned herself to getting mostly clothes again for Christmas. At least Madame Malkin's wasn't cold, Hermione thought, as her mother opened the door and warm, sweet-smelling air hit her in the face. The Alley was blusteringly cold today.

Once Hermione's mother filled Madame Malkin in on what was needed, Hermione was up on the dais again, measuring tapes floating around and measuring.

"You are filling in, aren't you?" Madame Malkin said, circling her with a critical eye as a measuring tape encircled Hermione's bust. She glanced over at Hermione's mother. "And still a bit to go, I'd venture."

"I'm _thirteen—!_ "

"Probably another few inches," her mother agreed. "Though it might take a decade to get there."

Both Madame Malkin and her mother laughed, leaving Hermione confused as to what was so funny, before Madame Malkin resumed her critical examination.

"You're still in school, so you'll be expected to wear uniform-style robes regardless of your figure," the proprietor told her. "There are a few styles that you can wear after classes, though." Her eyes paused on the Slytherin crest Hermione had pinned prominently to her robes, before flickering up to meet hers. " _Especially_ if you're in Slytherin."

"So new uniform shirts and robes," Hermione huffed. "I shouldn't need new skirts, now that I've finished growing?"

"On the contrary, these _hips_ of yours, young missy, have certainly _not_ finished…"

Hermione groaned and closed her eyes as Madame Malkin fussed around, picking out uniform clothes with her mother, stacking a pile high. When they finally returned, Madame Malkin was carrying a few different hangers.

"These are not uniform compliant to wear during classes," Madame Malkin warned her. "But they _are_ appropriate for you to begin wearing outside of classes, if you want."

Hermione examined the robes, feeling the fabric between her fingers. Most of them were very smooth and draped very beautifully. The cut of them was different, though, with more decoration and style around the neckline.

"And these are robes?" Hermione asked.

Madame Malkin raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

"Then… what's the difference between robes and a dress?"

Madame Malkin rolled her eyes.

"Robes button up the front," she informed her. "They can be worn open with an underrobe underneath, or they can be worn closed. They also have sleeves."

"And dresses don't?"

"They do not," Madame Malkin told her. She paused. "Many more witches nowadays are _wearing_ dresses as _if_ they are robes, but they are _not_ proper robes. Styles do change over time, but these robes are traditional."

"Do you like any of them, Hermione?" her mother prodded gently.

Hermione fingered the fabric of some of them, considering.

"I kind of like these two," she said. "Can I try them on?"

The first was a black robe with a boat neckline, fitted to her waist before sweeping out in a dramatic A-line. The buttons were black and very small, and it took her a while to do them all up.

"I like this one," Hermione announced, leaving the dressing room and twirling around. "I like how it fits."

"Very nice," her mother admired, but Madame Malkin frowned.

"The sleeves on that one are tight," she said. "You should wear it with a cloak or over robe, really."

 _Merlin forbid someone see the shape of my arms_ , Hermione thought, rolling her eyes.

The second robe had a deep V in the front, decorated with two small strips of fabric mimicking the V just above it. It was cut nearly to her navel.

" _That_ requires an under-robe," Madame Malkin warned when Hermione came out, carefully holding the neckline in place to keep from exposing herself. "Here."

With a silky sort of black slip under it, the robe looked _much_ more traditional, and Hermione kind of liked it. She announced so and changed, while her mother and Madame Malkin began carrying things to the counter. Hermione joined them afterward, still looking at one of the new casual robes.

"These are so different than what I usually wear," Hermione said. "I see the older girls in these sometimes, but I never noticed how different they were."

"Your figure is different now," Madame Malkin said, ringing up her school uniforms. "Robes that are cut for a flat chest don't work anymore. Speaking of…"

Her critical eye fell on Hermione again, and she fought not to flinch.

"You're doing alright now, but not for long if you fill out like your mother," she warned. "Dahlia's is on the corner of Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market. You might want to consider getting some stays."

Hermione's face flamed, while Hermione's mother laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, comforting.

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," she said calmly. "Thank you so much for your help today."

Hermione was muttering as they left the store, shrunken and wrapped packages in her mother's bag, and her mother laughed.

" _Stays,_ mother! Like it's the 18th century!"

"Well, some witches do seem to draw their fashion from that era," her mother mused. "I've seen several women now with a corset on over their robes."

"But that's different! I don't want to wear _stays_ and all those undergarments," Hermione argued. "We can just go and get me muggle bras another day."

Her mother looked amused.

"I thought you wanted to look as much like a traditional witch as possible," she teased. "Whatever will your beau say when he disrobes you to find you scandalously without stays?"

"Anyone lucky enough to see me without my robes had better be too distracted and grateful to care about anything else," Hermione informed her mother. "And if they _do_ put up a fuss, I'll kick them from my bed without a second thought."

Her mother laughed. "Bras it is then, love."

They met up with her father at The Hopping Pot. He had a bag with several wrapped bundles inside of it and was perusing _The Daily Prophet_ , looking every bit as much a wizard as anyone else in the place.

"We finally got the robes shopping done," her mother said, pressing a kiss to her husband's forehead and taking a seat next to him. "It wasn't _that_ exhausting this time," she teased.

"I don't _like_ clothes shopping," Hermione said sullenly. "It wasn't like I was misbehaving or anything. I just didn't want to be there."

"Fair enough," her mother said. "Just Hermione's gift shopping left, then."

"I think she's going to have to come back another day for that," her father said.

Both Hermione and her mother immediately objected.

"Oh, Dad, come on! That's not what we planned!"

"Richard, please. Surely it's better to get it all over with at once?"

"Perhaps." He glanced to his wife. "But I think we all need to go home and have a serious conversation first."

Hermione's mouth dried as her father slowly set down the paper, spreading it out on the table for them all to see.

 ** _MOUNTING TERROR AT HOGWARTS!_**

The headline blared, and there was a photo, too, even more damning than the words. Somehow, someone had gotten into the Hospital Wing and taken a photo of all the Petrified – Colin, Justin, and Lilian, as well as Nearly-Headless Nick. The photo captured all their expressions of terror, and the movement of the picture captured Nick's slow hover, up and down just a few inches, but not moving otherwise.

It was an eerie effect.

Hermione swallowed hard and looked up at her father, who was wearing a pleasant expression.

"Hermione?" he prompted. "Is there a reason you didn't tell us any of this was going on at your school?"

She bit her lip and looked down, not answering, and her mother sighed.

"You're right, dear," she admitted. "We'd better take Hermione home."


	134. Some Explaining to Do

"—so I'm in trouble for not telling you everything?!" Hermione stormed around the room angrily, her parents sitting on the couch. "Is that what this is? I have to tell you _everything_ now?"

"Hermione, you're in trouble for not mentioning a major threat to your safety!" her father objected. "That's a bit different than wanting you to tell us _everything!_ "

"Is it, though?" Hermione glared at him. "It's _my_ life. If I can protect myself, why should I cause you worry?"

"Hermione!"

"They don't know what's causing the attacks, love," her mother tried, her tone softer, worried. "Three students have been attacked. We just don't want you to be the fourth."

"I _won't_ be," Hermione said viciously, kicking at the carpet. "If I was going to be attacked, I would have been attacked _first_."

 _"Hermione!"_

Her father stood, moving to stand in front of Hermione, physically crowding her into a corner. Despite her growth spurt, her father was still taller than her, and she had to stop stomping and storming about and look up at him.

"Hermione," he warned her. "Part of you going to this school was the condition that you would be honest with me and your mother."

Hermione swallowed. "…I know."

"You are going to sit down and have this conversation with us in a mature, _civilized_ manner, do you understand?" he said. "If you want to go back after the holidays, you will tell us _exactly_ what is going on."

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded, and her father stepped away, returning to his seat on the couch. Hermione took a throw pillow and sat on the floor, facing them.

"I wasn't even dishonest," she sulked. "I just didn't mention everything."

"Lies by omission count the same as lies by commission," her father told her sternly. "Now: _what_ is going on?"

With a sigh, Hermione told her parents what all had been going on so far that year, starting with the attack on Mrs. Norris and the blood on the wall, then the attack on Colin. She told them about the rumors about Harry and the attack on Justin, and then, right before the holidays, how Lilian had been Petrified too.

"The rumors say that Salazar Slytherin hid a Chamber of Secrets somewhere within the castle and put a monster in it," Hermione explained. "A monster only the Heir of Slytherin can control."

Her father frowned. "A monster?"

"Hermione, how could you not think we would be worried about you?" her mother said, upset. "Students are getting _attacked!_ "

"They're only Petrified," Hermione said. "It's reversible. The cure just takes a while to make, I think."

"Why does Slytherin have a monster?" her father wanted to know. "If he has a hidden monster, he sounds like an evil wizard, to me."

Hermione grimaced.

"Allegedly, it was so his Heir could return one day and remove those Slytherin deemed unworthy," she admitted. " _I_ think it's more likely the monster was left there as a last line of defense in case the muggles attacked, really, but it was nearly a millennium ago, so no one really knows."

"What makes someone 'unworthy'?" her father prodded.

"Slytherin is known for only wanting to accept those of pure blood into Hogwarts," Hermione said, reluctantly. "Most people sorted into Slytherin are pureblood, with only a handful of halfbloods. I'm the only one with muggle parents in Slytherin right now."

Her mother's eyes widened. "Hermione, that just puts you in _more_ danger—"

"It doesn't, though," Hermione argued. "Because I would have already been attacked, wouldn't I? I would be the _first_ target the Heir would go after, if they thought I was unworthy."

Her father frowned. "So why _weren't_ you?"

"Because I'm New Blood," Hermione said. "It's… it's different than a normal Muggleborn. But it means that I'm the purest of the pure, and the Heir clearly believes it, as _I_ haven't been attacked."

"I still don't like the idea of you in a school with an unknown monster wandering the halls," her mother sighed.

"It's _not_ unknown," Hermione said, making a face. "It's a giant serpent of some sort. My friends and I figured it out."

Her father raised an eyebrow. "And how did you do _that?_ "

Hermione explained about Harry and the Parseltongue. Comprehension dawned on her mother as she explained, while her father looked thoughtful.

"So _that's_ why you learned to speak to snakes," she said. "I see now..."

"Does it have to be a serpent?" her father asked. "Or could the monster be any reptile that petrifies?"

Hermione blinked.

"I'm pretty sure it has to be a serpent," she said slowly. "Otherwise Harry wouldn't have heard it speaking in the walls."

"Well," her father sighed, "at least you won't have to fight a Beholder."

Hermione hadn't the slightest idea what that was.

"Hermione, why haven't you _told_ anyone about what's going on?" her mother asked her. "Surely you could have told a teacher when you figured out it was a giant serpent?"

"What are they going to do?" Hermione sniffed. "If it gets out that someone knows what the monster is, it will just panic the Heir, and _more_ people could get hurt. No, it's better to either figure out who's controlling the monster and take care of _them_ , or track down the monster and take care of _it_ directly first."

"And you plan on doing this all by yourself?" her mother asked dryly.

"No! My friends are helping!"

"This sounds like you think you're having another adventure, Hermione," her father said, frowning. "But this time, people could really get hurt."

"Petrification is reversible," Hermione repeated patiently. "At worst, they'll have to repeat a year. And I'm not being attacked. There's no reason I would need to withdraw."

Her mother exchanged a look with her father.

"I don't like this," she said finally. "You're putting an awful lot of faith in presuming you know what the Heir is thinking."

"I know it seems bad, but this is a magical school," Hermione ventured. "Things like this just seem to... happen? Half a dozen students were run over by rampaging Abraxans at Beauxbatons just last month, and they'll be in the hospital for ages. Ilvermony is _notorious_ for potions accidents and mutations. Compared to the others, Hogwarts comes off rather good?"

Hermione bit her lip, watching, her eyes pleading with her parents. Her parents looked at each other a while, their expressions changing, holding one of those wordless conversations that Hermione hated. Her mother sighed, and they turned back to her.

"You can go back to school," her mother said. "You can finish out the year, but if this monster is not taken care of by then, we will look into other magic schools for you to transfer to that are _safe_. Do you understand?"

"That's fine," Hermione said quickly. "I'm sure the monster will be caught and taken care of by then, so it won't even need to come to that."

"Hopefully," her father said. "There is one more requirement, though, in order for you to go back to school."

Hermione held her breath. "Yes…?

"You will need a weapon of some sort," he said, and here he grinned, a sparkle coming to his eyes. "No daughter of mine is going to face down a monster unarmed."

Her mother groaned loudly, while Hermione started to laugh.

"Oh, _no_ , Richard. Are you _serious?"_ her mother groaned, rubbing her temples. "…you _are_ serious, aren't you."

"Deadly," he said, leaning forward and ruffling Hermione's hair. "If you're going back into the lair of a monster, the least we can do is make sure you have some sort of sword."


	135. The Commission

Hermione's mother had denounced her father's idea as the most careless, irresponsible thing he could possibly do.

"It's like you're _encouraging_ her to face down a monster!" she said. "Giving her a blade. _Honestly_."

"Like it or not, our daughter is living in a fantasy novel," her father said stubbornly. "And it is our sworn duty, as her parents, to do all we can to equip her and protect her in her fight."

Hermione had left her parents to argue it out, which they continued to do so over the next several days, her father researching different kinds of swords they could get her, with her mother researching all the ways every blade he found was outlawed in the UK.

Hermione knew she was lucky she'd gotten off as lightly as she had. She was well aware that her parents could have pulled her out of Hogwarts. Though she thought she put up a decent argument (magical schools were inherently dangerous; Mahoutokoro was the only one that regularly reported next to no magical accidents, but that was on top of a _volcano,_ so how safe could it really be?), Hermione suspected her parents were willing to accept the danger for her more for... other reasons.

Hermione was well aware that her parents were proud that she had finally made friends and had a sense of belonging somewhere for the first time, and she suspected that played a large role in their decision. Hermione remembered all-to-well the loneliness and isolation of muggle school, and she knew her parents would be heartbroken to make her lose the first friends she'd ever made.

They had agreed to let her go back, though, with the stipulation of taking a weapon with her.

In her mind, that was about as close to a best possible outcome as she could possibly get.

Hermione went back to Diagon Alley to do her Christmas shopping alone on a weekday, unnervingly close to the holiday itself, but it was unavoidable. A lot of her gift shopping she had actually done in the Muggle world this year, but she walked up and down the alleyway anyway, toying with an idea and mulling it over in her mind. She stopped at The Hopping Pot for warm butterbeer and to doodle on a piece of parchment, before finally nodding, resolute.

Her hands felt nearly frozen by the time she finally made her way to Gringotts, nodding respectfully to the goblins standing guard.

Gringotts, despite its imposing structure, was _warm_ , and Hermione rubbed her arms and hands as she waited her turn in line. When she was at the front, she offered the goblin a short bow.

"I would speak to Bloodthorne," Hermione said, and the goblin gave her a suspicious look.

"Bloodthorne is busy," he said slowly. "I would help you."

"I would wait for Bloodthorne," Hermione said. "My time is my own, and I would spend it waiting."

The goblin gave her a searching look.

"You would speak with Bloodthorne," he said, "but would Bloodthorne speak to you?"

Hermione held up chin up defiantly. "He would."

With a scowl, the little goblin popped off his chair and trotted away, and Hermione let out a breath of relief. With the goblins she didn't know, she felt like she was stumbling around on a minefield, trying her best to observe their ways and not disrespect them.

The goblin returned with another in turn, and Hermione was surprised to realize that she could _recognize_ Bloodthorne this time – something about the tilt of his nose and gleam in his eyes. All the other goblins blended together, but at least being able to recognize _one_ goblin was progress, right?

"Miss Hermione Granger," he greeted her, giving her a deep bow and a grin full of pointy teeth. "I would do business with you on this day."

"Bloodthorne," Hermione said, bowing deeply as well. "I would do business with you as well."

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed. "Then if you would follow me…?"

He led her to a private consultation room.

"I have contracts for you to sign," he told her. "You would sign with this quill."

With a sigh, Hermione took the quill from him, looking reluctantly at the thick stack of parchments.

"This _hurts_ , you know," she informed him, and Bloodthorne only grinned.

Signature after gleaming signature appeared on the parchments as she signed, hissing in pain as the quill scratched and stole blood from her body. She paused after a few, taking a moment to dry the 'ink' with a puff of air so it wouldn't smear.

"You said you would do business with me on this day," Bloodthorne repeated. His eyes gleamed greedily. "Do you have a new scheme?"

"Not quite," Hermione admitted. "I would commission a weapon from the horde."

Bloodthorne froze.

"You would commission a weapon," he said, his voice oddly casual. It was an odd tone for a goblin to hold.

"I would," Hermione said carefully.

"And this weapon," Bloodthorne said, not looking at her. "What would it be?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"It would be a sword," she said. "It would be a djinn flyssa, or a rapier, with a blade that is strong but a length I could manage. The handguard would be decorated with Slytherin motifs and stones. I would have it look something like this."

Hermione pushed the drawing she'd carefully worked on across the table, and Bloodthorne took it carefully.

"You have drawn this?" he questioned. His eyes glinted, and Hermione swallowed.

"I have," she said.

"Your craftsmanship is admirable," Bloodthorne said. Hermione couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "You would be a skilled metalsmith, if you were a goblin."

"And yet, I am not," Hermione said carefully. There was a tension in the air, one where Hermione wasn't sure of the source. "I would commission such a blade."

"And this blade," Bloodthorne said. "What would you do with it?"

Hermione paused.

"I—I would try—"

"Yes?" Bloodthorne's eyes glinted beadily.

Hermione's mind blanked, and she took a deep breath.

"Honestly, I want it in case I get the chance to kill Slytherin's monster," she admitted, dropping her efforts at copying the goblins' language patterns. "I don't think I know enough magic to take down a monster, but a blade would probably help a lot. Most things die if you make them bleed enough."

Bloodthorne cackled.

"And this sword, that you would murder a monster with," he said, eyes glinting. "What would you do with it after?"

"Um, I don't know," Hermione said. "Hang it up on the wall in the house until I need it again? I don't really anticipate—"

She broke off and groaned.

"I forgot," she said. "Goblin ownership is different, isn't it? You're concerned I would keep it forever."

Bloodthorne looked surprised and suspicious, but Hermione carried on.

"I would keep it for my life and a day," Hermione said. "That's what you say, isn't it? And then it would return to its maker. I'm fine with that. We can make a contract, if you want, saying that if my descendants want to keep the sword, they need to pay X amount of galleons in order to keep it. That way, no one will ever be able to object, and no one will be claiming so-and-so stole the sword from whatever what's-her-name."

Bloodthorne looked at her suspiciously.

"You would strike such a deal?" he asked her skeptically.

Hermione shrugged. "Why not? We've been on such good terms this whole time. I'm not about to end it by disrespecting your ways. And if the goblins are helping me, why would I object?"

Incredibly, Bloodthorne began to laugh.

"You respect our ways," he told her, pointy teeth glinting with his grin. "Your attempts are noted and recognized. But the goblins honor their debts with their skill, aware or not."

He smirked at her, and Hermione blinked.

"You and I will strike a deal," he told her. "We would both sign a contract, and your sword would be commissioned by the finest."

"That's… that sounds perfect," Hermione said hesitantly. "But… what _debt_ …?"

Bloodthorne only grinned.

"It will be an honor the goblins will fight over, to craft this sword," he said. "Finish the contracts you were signing; I will draft one of commission for us now."

Eyes wide and blinking, Hermione uncertainly resumed scrawling her name over the contracts. There were another two dozen she had to get through, which seemed a lot. She wondered if any of these were already completed and just backdated – maybe Bloodthorne was just finalizing paperwork.

"We have a contract," Bloodthorne announced. "If you would sign."

Bloodthorne's name already shone at the bottom in his blood, darker than human blood, but Hermione took her time to read over the contract, her eyes growing wide.

"My descendants can keep it?" she said, astonished. "Really?"

"So long as the House of Granger continues to hold the loan contract previously made," Bloodthorne said, "the Goblin Horde will grant the House of Granger this sword."

That was _incredibly_ generous, and it was Hermione's turn to be suspicious. "Why?"

Bloodthorne sneered. "Why what?"

"Why would we get to keep it?" Hermione wanted to know. "I went to the trouble of respecting your culture and ways, and now you're not even using your own customs? I don't get it."

Bloodthorne's teeth glinted.

"I would keep my secrets, as you would keep your own," he informed her. "The contract has been made, plain and bold. If you agree to it, sign, but I may keep my reasoning to be my own."

Hermione read through the contract again, carefully. The goblins would make her a sword as requested, made of silver and decorated with emeralds. The sword would be sharp, able to cut through the hide of any beast, from dog to dragon. The contract held that as long as Hermione and her House kept allowing the goblins use of her vault to finance loans, she could hold onto the sword indefinitely. There was no complicated legalese; the contract was stark in its forthrightness.

"Alright," Hermione said finally, gesturing, and with a grin, Bloodthorne handed her back the blood quill.

As soon as her signature gleamed at the bottom, Bloodthorne snatched the contract and rolled it up, securing it with a ribbon.

"If you would give me your drawing," he asked her, "so the smith might know what you want."

Hermione nodded wordlessly, handing him her sketch, and Bloodthorne wrapped that up too.

"How long does it take?" Hermione asked. "To make a sword?"

"Any sword? Days," Bloodthorne dismissed. "But _this_ sword? This sword will take longer. The finest goblin-wrought silver and enchantments take time, and your sword will be made _right_."

Hermione wasn't sure about the integrity of silver as a metal to make a blade from – she'd rather thought carbonized steel would be the way to go – but perhaps magic made up for a lack of technology there. She still wasn't sure _why_ the goblins would be willing to make her a sword and let her keep it, and she suspected she was missing some key element of the trade, but Bloodthorne didn't seem inclined to inform her any time soon.

"I would send for you when your blade is complete," Bloodthorne told her. He bowed deeply. "A pleasure to do business with you once again, Miss Granger."

"The pleasure was all mine," Hermione said bowing back. "I will see you again when the blade is done."

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed.

"Yes," he said. "You will."


	136. Prediction Come to Pass

Hermione left Gringotts feeling like she'd been duped somehow by the goblins, though she had no idea how. She contented herself that whatever the goblins had pulled over on her, it clearly didn't hurt her or her finances, _and_ she was going to be able to _keep_ her sword, which was an unexpected plus, so whatever it was, it couldn't be _too_ bad overall, right?

When she got home and told her parents that she had commissioned a sword, her father lit up with excitement while her mother groaned.

"Of _course_ you can just commission a magical sword in the magical world," her mother despaired, holding her head in her hands. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"This is _excellent_ ," her father told her, eyes dancing. "A custom-made enchanted sword for you is always going to be better than any ratty old sword you find."

"…you do realize I'm not really an adventurer, Dad?" Hermione ventured.

Her father waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Still – a sword! How much gold did it cost?"

His eyes sparkled with excitement, and Hermione faltered.

"Err," she said. "I… I don't think it cost me anything."

Her father's eyes dimmed.

"What?"

"I… we were arguing over ownership," Hermione said, wracking her brains. "The contract said so long as I let the goblins keep loaning money out from my bank account, they would make me a sword and let me keep it."

Her father blinked.

"Is that not typical?" he asked.

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "I set up a contract with the goblins, letting them loan money out from my account and splitting the interest with them. They didn't have any system like that before."

Her father started to laugh.

"Trust my daughter to try and reform a strange financial institution in her spare time," he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder proudly. "Well, so long as you don't think they're going to betray you..."

Nothing gave Hermione any indication that a goblin would _ever_ break their word. Even in Binns' lectures about the rebellions, no goblin had ever told a direct lie.

"I think I'll be okay," she told him.

"My daughter, making friends with the _goblins_ ," her mother moaned, holding her head in her hands theatrically. "Not that the goblins are impolite, but they're _threatening_. Oh, Hermione, couldn't you do business some other way?"

"You're being overdramatic, Jean," her father chided.

"I'm _allowed_ to be overdramatic," her mother sniffed. "My daughter is commissioning a _legitimate medieval weapon_. If this isn't the time to be melodramatic about it, when is?"

"And I _am_ doing business another way," Hermione butted in. "What do you think all the Avon forms I send you are about, hmm?"

"That's true," her mother conceded, a small smile coming to her face. "You've been very successful with that so far, and dutiful about paying me back. I'm proud of you."

Hermione glowed at the praise, before something occurred to her.

"Oh," she said. "I got a new order in. But Mum, Dad – do either you know anything about dyslexia?"

"The reading disability?" Her father frowned. "Only a little."

Hermione explained what Susan Bones had told her on the train, describing her symptoms to them both. When she finished, they were both frowning thoughtfully.

"That doesn't sound like dyslexia, Hermione," her mother said. "Honestly, it sounds like something neurological."

"Like something wrong with her brain?" Hermione said, alarmed. "Like a tumor?"

"Something small, if so," her mother assured her. "I'm sure you don't need to worry your friend has a brain tumor."

"I'll ask around," her father said, frowning. "I have a few friends in medicine and pediatrics who know about different learning disabilities. I'll see what I can find."

Hermione smiled up at her father. "Thanks. It would really help, if she could figure out how to treat this— this whatever-it-is."

"We'll do our best, dear," her mother assured her. "Now, come and set the table for dinner."

* * *

Christmas Eve, Hermione awoke to the sound of owls tapping at her bedroom window. She groggily got out of bed and let them in, taking their letters and feeding them treats before the owls flew away. She didn't know what all the fuss was – she'd sent her gifts off the day before, but surely no one was so uncouth as to open them early and send a thank you note before the holiday had actually occurred.

Hermione got dressed and stumbled down the stairs, mumbling a good morning to her parents as she puttered around, getting some toast and jam and sitting down to eat before finally examining her mail. If she wasn't mistaken in recognizing the handwriting, one letter was from Harry, and the other looked to be from Ron.

Biting into her toast and holding it in her mouth, she tore open Harry's letter.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _You were right. Not that you're not usually right, but you were **really** right this time – the Ministry came for Hagrid. _

_It was_ ** _mad_** _. The Minister showed up with a bunch of Aurors right in the middle of lunch yesterday, demanding a meeting with Dumbledore. Dumbledore went with them and took them to his office, but everyone saw them go down to Hagrid's hut shortly after, and everyone heard the yells when they didn't find him._

 _Hagrid escaped, Hermione. He'd be locked up in Azkaban if it wasn't for you telling him to be ready to run._

 _I know we tease you for being a cunning Slytherin, but honestly, I am so grateful that you are._

 _Have a happy Christmas,_

 _Harry_

Hermione's breath caught.

 _Hagrid_. They'd gone after _Hagrid_.

She'd warned Hagrid they might, but even as she'd said it, it had been a detached possibility, an analytical outcome to prepare for. Even as she _knew_ it was likely, she hadn't really thought…

She reached for the next letter, ripping open Ron's.

 _Hermione,_

 _Fudge came to take arrest Hagrid and throw him in Azkaban. Hagrid must have legged it the second he saw Fudge with the Aurors at the gates. They found his hut door open with the place ransacked and everything._

 _Even if he just ran with Fang into the forest, he's better off than he would have been if he hadn't planned to run as soon as they came. Pretty sure if you hadn't warned him, he'd be locked up in Azkaban now for who knows how long until they caught the real Heir._

 _You might be a Slytherin, but you're the best scheming Slytherin around._

 _Thanks,_

 _Ron_

Hermione wondered if that was the nicest thing Ron had ever told her. The only other 'kind' words she could remember from him was him announcing to Ginny that she was the nicest evil person around.

Ron's letter reminded her, though—the Heir was still out there.

Hermione had been so fixated on the monster with all her parents' fussing lately that she'd forgotten – she had a new clue into who the Heir really was.

Lilian Travers had been the one attacked, which meant the Heir was someone in Gryffindor – Gryffindor had been the only house that had heard rumors discrediting her heritage. The other two houses had heard rumors about two others.

So, Hermione mused, a Gryffindor, and a girl, probably third year or under. There were roughly half a dozen girls per house each year, so that was between 15-20 suspects, if she included the few older girls that were very short.

Now she just needed to figure out how many of them had dark hair to exclude them and narrow it down even further. She doubted that'd be more than half, though, so after _that_ , she suspected she'd need to come up with a new plan. Confronting ten people with aggressive hissing wasn't going to be a great way to get a result.

 _Gryffindor_ , though. It seemed odd – Hermione hadn't forgotten that Lucius Malfoy was still somehow the one behind it all, and Gryffindor seemed like the house _least_ likely to have anyone in contact with Lucius Malfoy.

 _He'll be manipulating them somehow,_ Hermione reminded herself. _Whoever it is probably doesn't know Lucius Malfoy is somehow behind it all._

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered how Lucius Malfoy had somehow planned all this to the extent that his _House Elf_ knew he was up to nefarious dealings, but his _son_ somehow had not.

Then again…

It was likely Draco had probably tried to avoid his father as much as possible over the summer. Especially given that he was beating him.

Hermione sighed.

If Hermione caught the Heir, the attacks would stop, but the Heir of Slytherin was a _person_ , able to hide amongst other people. It would be hard to prove who they were. It would be much easier to catch a _monster_ – a giant snake was bound to be more obvious, and Hermione should be able to hear its hissing now to track it, so long as she wasn't sleeping again. She probably _would_ want a sword, though – she didn't exactly know magic violent enough to take out a giant snake. She'd barely managed a troll.

"I can always go to a teacher for help if I need it," she told herself, setting the letters aside. "And I can always bring Lockhart along to get hit first."


	137. Happy Christmas

Hermione awoke very early on Christmas morning from a dull popping sound and a moving weight on her bed. Alarmed, she grabbed her wand.

 _"Lumos!"_

The figure froze.

A House Elf, clad in a small toga sort of thing, stood hunched over on the edge of the bed, wincing.

"I is sorry, young miss," it begged. "I is not meaning to wake you up."

Hermione stared.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she demanded.

The House Elf brightened.

"I is delivering presents!" the House Elf said proudly. It moved to hold up a brown sack that hung heavily at its side, a strap crossing its chest. "I is just popping from place to place, delivering the gifts for the young master."

"And you can just… pop in from place to place?"

The House Elf shrugged.

"If master tells me, I do as I is told. Sometimes involves popping."

The House Elf seemed to lose interest in the conversation and rustled in its sack, before handing a package to Hermione.

"The young master sends you a gift," it told her. "Here."

Hermione took the wrapped package, glancing at the gift tag.

 ** _To:_** _Hermione Granger  
_ _ **From:**_ _Theodore Nott_

Hermione looked back up at the House Elf.

"Thank you," she told it. "If you see Theo, tell him 'thank you' too?"

At this, the House Elf wrung its ears.

"Please young miss, do not be asking me to do that," it begged. "I is not wanting to admit to young master that I wokes his friend up."

"Oh." Hermione blinked. "Err—that's alright then. 'Thank you' just to you, then."

She nodded at the House Elf, not entirely sure how best to thank one, and the House Elf beamed.

"Thank you, young missy!" it said. "Joyful Yule!"

It disappeared with a soft popping noise, leaving Hermione to stare at the empty space where it had been, before glancing at her alarm clock.

It was just after three o'clock in the morning.

With a groan and a decision to think about House Elves invading her house once she was more awake, Hermione tossed her wand back on her nightstand with a quick _"Nox"_ and promptly fell back asleep.

* * *

"Happy Christmas, dear!"

"Happy Christmas, Mum," Hermione said, giving her mother an awkward one-armed hug, clutching gifts in the other arm. Her mother hugged her back and gave her an amused smile.

"Mysterious magical presents in the night again?" she asked, and Hermione flushed.

"Just a few," she said, moving to put them under the tree. "I figured out how some of them were getting here without an owl, though."

"Is that Hermione?" her dad called from the kitchen.

"I'm finally up, Dad," Hermione called back. She settled the gifts under the tree and went to see her father. "Happy Christmas, Dad."

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," her father said, grinning at her. "Excited for your presents?"

"Somewhat," Hermione admitted, flushing. "Some of them are shaped very oddly."

Her father laughed. "Well, we'll get there soon. Let me just finish breakfast up."

Christmas breakfast in the Granger household was traditionally cinnamon-sweet Monkey bread and French toast, which Hermione enjoyed, though her eyes kept straying to the living room and the tree. Finally, her mother made them all hot chocolate and they moved to the living room, where her father turned on the radio to a station playing Christmas music, and the gift-giving began.

Hermione's parents had given her clothes – and _lots_ of them. Not only were there new school uniforms and the black dress-type robes Hermione had tried on, but her mother had clearly gone back and gotten more of the dress-style robes in colors – emerald green, a darker forest green, a deep purple, and a midnight blue. Hermione marveled, running her hands over the smooth fabric, and her mother smiled.

"Madame Malkin put tailoring charms in a few of the areas," she told Hermione. "If you grow a little more, the robes should stretch and resize to fit for at least a little while."

Hermione flushed and her parents laughed, and Hermione set the clothes aside to open the remaining gifts from her parents.

The remaining gifts were a few books – general spell books, it seemed, that her parents had picked out because they seemed interesting. One was on household charms, one on personal grooming, and one on improvised transfiguration. She paged through the first one, finding charms to vanish dust and straighten up untidy piles.

"Are you saying I need magic to keep my room clean?" Hermione asked, indignant, and her parents laughed.

"Your room is fine," her mother assured her, eyes sparkling. "But we thought it wouldn't hurt."

"I have one more thing for you." Her father handed her a thin bendy package, which Hermione took with a quizzical look. Carefully opening the wrapping, she found several groups of paper stapled together, stacked on top of each other in a small pile.

"What's this?" she asked, scanning the titles. "What is 'scotopic sensitivity syndrome'?"

"About a decade ago, a psychologist called Helen Irlen began publishing about a visual syndrome she noticed in patients," her father said. "It was especially noticed in children diagnosed with dyslexia. These are all the papers I could pull about it so far. I don't know much about it, but from glancing at the abstracts, it sounds like this might be what your friend has."

"That's… thanks, Dad." Hermione tried to offer him a smile, and her Dad laughed.

"I know you're probably not thrilled to wade through medical research, but it's about time you read something challenging, isn't it?" he teased. "Come on, let's see what else you got for the holiday."

Her dorm mates had all sent nice school-related things – inks, quills, a new planner. Pansy had sent her a set of quills made from a dove feathers, which gave Hermione pause. She wasn't sure if doves were symbols of peace and forgiveness in the wizarding world, but she'd have to check. Even if the gift _was_ some sort of plea for forgiveness from Pansy, Hermione doubted she'd ever be able to trust the girl.

She might eventually forgive, but Hermione could _never_ forget what Pansy had done to her.

Ron had sent her some chocolate frogs, which was nicer than his gift last year (nothing). Hermione had only sent him some Ice Mice this year as she wasn't trying to shame him for being a bad friend, so sweets were more than sufficient. He wasn't even her friend – just an acquaintance, really, who kind of came as an unfortunate package deal with Harry and Neville.

Neville had gotten her a wand holster and polishing kit, which made Hermione smile. Neville had gained a lot of confidence in his classes using his new wand, and she was happy to see him succeed. She'd sent him a muggle book on Gregor Mendel as a gift. With his affinity for Herbology, she thought he might find Mendel's pea experiments fascinating.

Harry had sent her an expandable Geometry set, which had Hermione puzzled until she read the note with it – apparently, Harry thought she had taken too long when making her ritual circle in the snow, and he thought a compass and protractor that she could make as large as she wanted would help. She grinned and set it aside. Though it was a jab at how long things had taken when doing it her way, Hermione had to recognize that he _was_ right, and the set would prove immeasurably useful in the future.

Hermione had sent Harry a thin, battered book on Parseltongue and its history that she'd found when exploring her trunk of dodgy books. A lot of the books she'd 'inherited' from Quirrell were quite old, and their copyright spells had either faded or had never been cast. She'd duplicated the book to send to Harry after scanning it herself, hoping it would offer a comfort to him that he wasn't a freak and instead was lucky enough to have a rare gift. She'd set the original aside to read herself later.

Theo had sent her a set of immaculate potion vials, enchanted to never break. Hermione had sent him a book on muggle disguise, figuring it would amuse him. Hermione set the vials aside and reached for the next package, done up in lurid wrapping paper with an enormous, overdramatic bow.

"Who's this one from?" her mother asked, amused. "Someone with a penchant for drama, apparently."

"Blaise," Hermione said, groaning. "How am I even supposed to get this bow _off?_ "

"He's the one coming around tomorrow to see the show with us?" her father asked.

"If he accepts," Hermione said, distracted. "I just—aha!"

The bow finally gave way, allowing Hermione to tear the ribbon off and shove it aside, tearing into the package with annoyance as her parents laughed.

Once it was open, a smooth wooden box lay in front of her, an elaborate, a Celtic-styled pentacle carved into the top. Finding a clasp, she flipped it open and gasped at what she saw inside.

Blaise had sent her a ritual set – a _full_ , formal ritual set. Hermione let her fingers run over the silver tools inside, recognizing things she had only read about before. There was an athame, a boline, and a seax of her own – she'd be able to give Draco's back to him, now. A small, golden disc with a pentacle inscribed on it was nestled into the kit, and there was a golden chalice included as well. There was incense and candles and even a scourge, and Hermione found herself wondering if Blaise had somehow _found_ this, or if he'd taken it upon himself to create a full kit for her himself.

Either way, it was clearly complete and well-thought out, and Hermione found herself swallowing hard and blinking rapidly. Even if Blaise had sent it to her out of self-motivation and his own desire to do more rituals, it was an incredibly personal and well-thought out gift.

"What else is there?" her mother prompted. Startled from her thoughts, Hermione returned to the tree, selecting another fancily-wrapped gift. Not to her surprise, it was from Anthony Goldstein, who she'd sent a book on Rowena Ravenclaw.

Anthony had sent her a majestic royal blue cloak, and Hermione groaned, reading the invitation to his family's annual holiday celebration.

"Is this the same boy who sent you the cape last year?" her father wanted to know. "Just how well do you know him?"

"You'll need to decline again," her mother mused. "We actually _do_ have plans tomorrow evening this time. But what a _gorgeous_ cloak."

"I _know,_ " Hermione groaned. "The issue is that this perfectly matches that dress you got me, so I'm going to want to _wear_ it. And if I _wear_ it, people are going to start presuming certain things."

Her parents teased her at her discomfort while she folded the cloak and set it aside. There was one package left under the tree – a small, silver-wrapped box with a sparkling ribbon. It was _significantly_ small, and Hermione found herself wondering what, exactly, Draco had sent her this year.

Unable to think of anything entirely appropriate for the Malfoy heir once again, Hermione had sent him a large dragon-themed mug she'd found in a muggle shop that wouldn't have looked out of place at a Renaissance Faire. There were dragons depicted in bright silver and enamel on the sides, and the handle itself was the head and neck and body of a purple dragon, its wings extending onto the cup to wrap just under the rim. She figured if nothing else, he'd appreciate the attention, though she severely doubted she'd ever see him using it while at school.

She slid her finger under the gift wrapping to tear it open, revealing a small box. The box was velvet-covered again, like the one he'd sent last year, Hermione felt her heart thudding in her throat as she eased open the hinges.

"Oh _wow_ ," her mother breathed. "Is that an emerald?"

It _was_ , Hermione knew. There was nothing else the brilliant stone could _be_ , even if she'd never seen one in person, and she carefully tilted it out of the box into her hand.

Draco had sent her a teardrop-cut emerald, the facets all perfectly cut and brilliant. The stone seemed to _glow_ with a deep green color while somehow simultaneously looking somewhat transparent, and Hermione wasn't even sure how that _worked_. More than anything was the _size_ of the stone – it was nearly the length of her thumb long, and as wide as her thumb to the first knuckle at the fullest part of the teardrop.

It was stunning.

"But what is she supposed to do with that?" her dad was arguing. "Keep it in a pretty box to look at?"

"She can do whatever she wants with it, but I imagine she'll get it set," her mother told him. "You don't just _hoard_ loose stones. You put them into a pendant or necklace or some piece to suit your style."

 _Oh_ , Hermione thought, as she realized Draco's brilliance.

It wasn't jewelry. He had undeniably sent her a rock, pretty though it was, and no one could make an argument to the contrary.

But it was, so clearly, _was_.

It _was_ jewelry, but not, just like the silver Slytherin crest he had sent her the previous year. The Slytherin crest, though, as beautiful as it was, was still just a pin. _This_ , though… Hermione had no idea quite _what_ to think of the extravagance of _this_ gift.

"Are gems like this _normal_ , in the magical world?" her father wanted to know, and Hermione swallowed and shook her head a little to clear it, looking up.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I know the goblins are master metalsmiths and mine for jewels, so _probably?_ I think I read that jewels are good carriers for enchantments, so they're probably a lot more common than you'd see here."

"Oh, is this one enchanted?" her mother asked.

"I don't _think_ so," Hermione said, "but I don't really know how to check."

"Well that's nice of him, giving you a beautiful blank canvas to customize to your taste," her mother said, pleased. "And clearly _very_ generous of him as well."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. She glanced around. "Is that all?"

It seemed it was, which disappointed Hermione slightly. She'd sent Snape a gift of dark chocolates and a black jumper, but he'd sent her nothing in return.

"Not quite," her father said, reaching for the end table. "This arrived by owl this morning."

He picked up a flower and handed it to Hermione, and Hermione blinked.

"…a rose?"

"A rose," her father confirmed.

It was a rose, and quite pretty – the thorns charmed off and the petals a beautiful mix between a light pinkish color and a sort of lavender shade. It smelled rich and lovely, and Hermione suspected an Everlasting charm had been laid on it before it was sent through the mail. A small bow of white ribbon sat halfway down the long stem, but it was attached to nothing.

"Did anything come with it?" she asked, turning to her father. "Who sent it?"

Her father handed her a small scrap of parchment, one eyebrow raised while his lips twitched in amusement. Hermione took it eagerly and read.

 _To Hermione:_

 _Ribbon-wrapped as white as driven snow;  
Sent as straight as e'er was the crow;  
To one as sweet a damask rose._

 _\- Cedric_

Hermione's eyes widened.

" _Cedric_ sent this to me?" she said, astonished. "Cedric _Diggory?_ "

"Who's that, dear?" her mother asked, and Hermione shook her head.

"He's… he's just some Hufflepuff," she said, baffled. "I met him recently, when I visited their common room. He's two years above me."

"Did you like him?" her mother said slyly, and Hermione flushed.

"I mean, he's very fit, but we argued when we first met," she said. "I didn't think I made an impression. I'm just some random second-year."

Her father laughed.

"You realize you leave an impression everywhere you go, Hermione?" he teased. "Especially when you're arguing."

Hermione's cheeks burned. "Still!"

"Quite classy, this fellow," her father commented. "Simple, but classy. I like it."

"But what does it _mean?_ " Hermione wanted to know.

"I don't know much about flower language," her mother said, smiling, "but his note is a deliberate misquote of Shakespeare. The original is ' _Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses'_ , if I remember properly."

"How do you know that just offhand?" her father wanted to know.

"It's from _A Winter's Tale_ ," her mother shot back. "It's where we found the name _Hermione_."

"Oh…"

"So he's subtly letting me know he knows muggle culture?" Hermione said, frowning as she toyed with the rose. "Referencing the play with my name?"

Her mother laughed.

"That, and he's calling you ' _as sweet as a rose'_ ," her mother said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Don't over-analyze it, Hermione – a boy called you sweet and sent you a rose. Even without knowing whatever flower-language says it means, it's clear he likes you. Poetry and flowers are the language of romance."

"But I barely _know_ him!" Hermione objected.

"It seems he wants to get to know you better," her father smirked, needling her. "And _you_ didn't send him a gift, did you? Let's hope you haven't already blown your chance with him."

" _Dad!"_

Her parents laughed as Hermione fussed at them, her cheeks setting her face aflame.


	138. A Christmas Carol

Blaise arrived promptly via Floo at six o'clock the following evening. Hermione met him at the fireplace, his body practically vibrating with excitement.

"Do you have any idea how excited I am?" he told her immediately upon arrival, his eyes alight. "My mother was aghast at me needing to find muggle clothes—I was lucky I was able to find anything today at _all,_ only one place in Diagon Alley has anything—but look how strange I look!"

He twirled around in front of her, laughing. His cloak was wizarding, clearly, but would blend in well enough as a long jacket outside. Underneath he seemed to be just be wearing a nice black jumper and black denims.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked, frowning. "You look fine."

Blaise stopped spinning and looked at her incredulously.

"What's so funny—? Hermione, _look_."

He lifted one leg, grabbing his thigh.

"Do you _see_ how tight these are?" he said. "I can't _believe_ that these are _appropriate!_ How do muggles even _move_ in these?"

"They move with you," Hermione told him, smiling. "And jeans can be cut loose or tight. Mine are even tighter than yours, I'd wager."

Blaise scoffed. " _Really?"_

Hermione took off her cloak and set it aside, twirling in front of Blaise herself with a laugh. She was wearing a soft, rose-colored sweater with a V-cut in the front and a pair of dark wash jeans.

"See? They stretch," Hermione said, lifting a leg and bending a knee. "Besides. You look good in them. You don't look strange at all."

Blaise appeared momentarily baffled.

"This is—this is what muggles wear to the _theater?_ " he asked. " _Really?_ "

"We're only going to the community playhouse," she told him. "It's not super fancy, not like the opera or anything."

"But… you're in _trousers_ ," Blaise said.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"That's—that's _appropriate?_ "

"Yes, Blaise," Hermione sighed, folding her arms. "In the muggle world, women wear slacks too."

"Ones that are this tight?" His eyes were wide.

Hermione briefly wondered if Blaise would have a heart attack upon seeing the kinds of things muggles wore in the summer _._

"Hermione, is that Blaise?" her mother's voice came from the other room. "We need to get ready to leave."

"Yes, mum!" Hermione called back. She turned to Blaise. "Come on, let's go."

Hermione hurried to the entryway, where her parents were putting on their coats and gloves.

"Mum, Dad, this is Blaise Zabini," Hermione said. She paused, turning to Blaise. "Ah—Blaise, may I present my mother, Dr. Jean Granger, and my father, Dr. Richard Granger?"

Blaise swept them a low bow. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Dr. and Dr. Granger. It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Hermione watched her mother and father exchange an amused look.

"The pleasure is all ours, I assure you," her mother said, and Blaise stood. "We're excited Hermione's made a friend she wants to bring along."

Blaise looked intrigued. "Has she never brought a friend along before?"

"No," her father laughed. "Hermione didn't have many friends in primary school, and the playhouse was under renovation last year, so we didn't go."

"We usually go to see _A Christmas Carol_ every year," her mother explained, buttoning her coat. "It's a family tradition."

"But I'm the first companion she's brought along?" Blaise looked smug, and Hermione elbowed him.

"Don't get a big head about it, or I'll ask Tracey next time," she snapped, but Blaise just laughed and grinned.

Once they were all settled into the car and on their way, Hermione was amused to watch Blaise's astonishment and eyes as he watched the other cars and lights out the window, rapt.

"This is mad," he breathed. "How do they make the lights so bright?"

"They run off of a different kind of energy," Hermione told him. "Not candles."

"And those ones are _colored—!"_

"That's called neon."

When they arrived at the playhouse, Blaise watched with wide eyes at everyone else entering the clubhouse.

"There's so _many_ of them," he breathed.

"The muggle world is much bigger than the wizarding one," Hermione reminded him. "By a large magnitude."

Blaise nodded absently. He seemed to be watching people carefully as they went in while her parents fussed with fixing their coats and locking the car.

"How does this work?" he asked her finally.

Hermione glanced over. "How does what work?"

Blaise gestured. "Some people are just going in. But some people, the woman's arm is wrapped around the man's. But still others are holding hands."

Hermione blinked. "And…?"

"Which one means what?" Blaise asked. "I don't know the social customs here."

"Oh." Hermione thought. "I… err…"

Put on the spot, it was hard to define, she realized. Anyone would walk in with each other, but for the others…

"Anyone can just walk in together," she said. "Generally, with a close companion, the woman might link her arm with the man's."

"Like a proper escort?" Blaise queried.

"Exactly." Hermione nodded. "Holding hands is more… err…"

"It's more intimate," her mother said, stepping up behind them. "Are you two ready to go in?"

"Ah, yes ma'am," Blaise said quickly, bowing slightly. "My apologies for the delay."

"It's quite alright." Her mother shot Hermione an amused look at her friend's fancy manners and Hermione flushed. "Let's go."

Her mother and father led the way, and Hermione watched as Blaise watched as her mother wove her arm through her father's, holding it as they went in the theater together. He glanced over at her, before extending his arm.

"Like this?" he asked, his tone hopeful, and Hermione laughed.

"Just like at Hogwarts," she said, taking his arm as he escorted her into the building.

"Not quite like at Hogwarts," Blaise pointed out. "You'd only escort someone like this to indicate an interest or courting intention in the wizarding world."

Hermione's eyes sparkled. "And what makes you think it's any different here?"

Blaise stumbled at that, and Hermione laughed.

"I'm teasing, I'm teasing!"

"Are you?" Blaise shot back, but he was grinning wickedly. "Making me think I was making a public courting declaration—"

"We're in the muggle world – they don't do that anymore, here."

"Wait, they _what?_ How?"

Hermione ended up having to explain the basics of muggle dating customs as they found their seats, Blaise listening in.

"So no one just _knows?_ " he repeated. "You have to _ask?_ "

"The muggle world is too large for people to just _know_ who's making what gesture to whom in society at any given time," she explained. "Besides, it's not uncommon to date more than one person at a time here."

" _Really?_ "

Hermione shrugged. "It's up to each couple. Generally, when people get serious, they'll only date each other, but I know some women continue to date multiple people until they get a ring."

"A ring?"

"An engagement ring," Hermione clarified. "It indicates the couple intends to get married."

Blaise nodded, satisfied.

"A gift of bright jewelry," he said. "At least that's the same."

A gift of jewelry in the wizarding world was a statement of an _intent_ to court a person with the end goal of a betrothal, Hermione knew, but she didn't realize there was a difference in jewelry between indicating an _intent to court_ and indicating _formally_ _betrothed_.

Blaise was looking sneaky, and Hermione made a mental note to ask Tracey or Millie. She didn't want Blaise getting any ideas – he'd already seemed to let 'being her companion' go right to his head.

* * *

"But the _ghosts—!"_

Blaise was laughing hysterically, bent over at the waist. Hermione watched him in annoyance, arms folded in impatience, while her parents watched on in amusement.

"It's _cold_ , Blaise," Hermione said. "Can we _please_ get to the car?"

"I can't! I can't breathe! Give me a moment—"

Hermione rolled her eyes as Blaise gradually got ahold of himself, before they _finally_ went to the car.

"Is that really what muggles think ghosts are like?" Blaise asked, snickering. "All rattling chains or giant reapers of doom?"

"Nobody really _knows_ what ghosts look like," Hermione said, "so they imagine. Muggles can't _see_ ghosts, Blaise, so how would they have any idea?"

Blaise just grinned, undeterred.

"So do they really think ghosts can take you back through time?" he wanted to know, trying to buckle his seatbelt. "Can all ghosts in muggle culture do that, or just the Christmas ghosts?"

"That's just a literary device in this play," her mother told him. "Most ghosts in muggle culture just hang around after they've died, unable to move on."

"Really?" Blaise mused. "That's about the same as with us, really."

Her father glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. "Is it?"

"Well, yeah," Blaise said, shrugging. "None of them ever talk about it directly when you ask them, but you can kind of tell that there's some kind of _choice_ they face, when they decide to move on or not. It's mostly people who died unexpectedly or violently that linger, though, so I'm not sure why the man with the holly would have hung around."

"I think they were special ghosts," Hermione said. "Like, ones given a special mission who could visit from the afterlife once a year."

"That might make sense. It would explain what he was wearing…"

Hermione could see her mother and father exchanging heavy glances in the front seat, but she hadn't the slightest idea as to why.

"Did Scrooge remind you of anyone?" Blaise asked Hermione, his eyes still alight. "He was like a cross between Snape and Filch!"

"Oh please," Hermione laughed. "Snape? Snape would have just looked down his nose at the Ghost of Christmas Past and scoffed, and she'd have scurried away in fear."

"Fair," Blaise snickered. "Who, then?"

"Maybe a cross between Filch and a goblin? Can you imagine what Filch would be like with a goblin's greed…?"

They chatted happily all the way home, Blaise going over and over parts of the play with Hermione.

"It wasn't even that different, though," he mused. "They celebrated Christmas nearly the exactly same way."

"What did you imagine?" Hermione said, laughing.

Blaise shrugged. "I'd heard muggle Christmas was like a revel, practically, with lots of drinking and setting of fires. Malfoy says that the muggles would demand the best food and drink from the lords of the land, and if the lords failed to comply, they'd terrorize them."

"That…. That hasn't been done in several hundred years," Hermione said, incredulous. She looked at Blaise curiously. "Do purebloods really think muggles are still like that?"

"I mean, I kind of did," Blaise admitted. "It's not like we interact with the muggle world much, is it? So it makes sense if the information is kind of outdated. My mum made me promise to avoid all the rats and fleas I would see, even though I didn't see _any_ tonight _._ "

"What, to avoid the _plague?_ " Hermione was aghast. "Has _no one_ ever taken Muggle Studies? What do they _teach,_ if that's what people actually think?"

Blaise shrugged. "No idea. We can't take that until 3rd year anyway, you know."

By the time they got home, Hermione was sleepy and Blaise's excitement was finally wearing off. Hermione's mother helped her out of the car, while her father helped Blaise stumble out.

As he paused by the fireplace, ready to Floo home, Blaise looked at Hermione.

"That was one of the craziest, _best_ experiences I've ever had," he told her honestly, with a tired grin. "Thank you, Hermione, for inviting me to accompany you. The experience was a lovely gift."

His smile was happy and honest, without the teasing tilt it usually had, and before she realized she was, Hermione had stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

"It was my pleasure," she murmured, hugging Blaise tight. "Thank you for coming. It was more fun with you there."

Blaise seemed startled, but his arms came up slowly to hug Hermione back.

"It was brilliant," he said honestly. "I'd love to go again."

He gave her a small, almost shy smile as Hermione pulled back, his cheeks flushed.

"I better get home though, or my mum will go mad," he said, reluctant. He rolled his eyes. "Can you imagine, her storming into a muggle house demanding to know who was holding me captive?"

Hermione laughed as Blaise grinned at her, and he threw the Floo powder into the fire, the flames turning emerald green with a _whoosh_ of heat.

"I'll see you at school," Hermione bid him, smiling.

"You had better," Blaise said, smirking. "Take care!"

He crouched and stepped into the fireplace, and with a cry of "Zabini Villa!", he disappeared.

Hermione watched the fireplace for a few moments more, watching as the flames turned back from green to yellow, before dragging herself into the dining room, where her parents were enjoying a quiet drink.

"Thank you for letting me bring a friend," she said, her words slurring slightly in her fatigue. "He said he had a really good time."

"It was our pleasure, Hermione," her mother told her, giving her a soft smile. "You look exhausted. Why don't you go on up to bed?"

Hermione nodded and yawned, making her way up the stairs, hearing her parents resume their murmured conversation behind her. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but they had seemed to like Blaise despite his oddness, so she couldn't bring herself to worry about it now. She managed to levitate her bed and bookshelf for a full seven minutes before they thudded back down to the earth, and she finally put her wand away for the night, mind still dancing with the play and Blaise and his surprised delight over muggle things.

 _All in all_ , she thought, undressing and falling into bed, _I think that's one of my favorite holiday memories yet._


	139. Chrysalization

The rest of the break passed relatively uneventfully for Hermione. She spent most of her time reading the new books she'd been given and trying to wade her way through the medical papers, and except for a visit to a department store for new bras and undergarments with her mother, her parents largely left her to her own entertainments the rest of the break. Her parents had some questions for her prompted by Blaise's comments, asking about ghosts and the like (they were shocked to realize the Professor Binns she complained about so often in her letters was a ghost), but the argument about obtaining a sword to protect herself from a monster seemed largely dropped. Hermione wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she was happy to let her parents content themselves with their preoccupation, carefully not bringing up the sword or heir or monster again the rest of the break.

She also didn't mention Luna had sent her an antique decorated sword sheath three days after Christmas, citing 'owl delays' and 'unclear chronology' for why it was late.

(The muggle pentagram charm for Luna's bracelet Hermione had sent was far less functionally practical than a sword sheath, but Hermione hoped Luna had liked it anyway.)

Hermione spent a fair part of her vacation wading through the medical papers her father had given her for Christmas. Apparently, Irlen Syndrome was a "perceptual processing disorder," meaning it was a problem with the brain's ability to process visual information, not a problem with the eyes. As far as Hermione could make out, the brain misinterpreted light signals, which meant that the wrong parts of the brain got lit up and became overactive, which could cause weird distortions or pain. Because words would warp and move, reading was difficult, and Irlen Syndrome often looked a lot like dyslexia, though it was a different type of disability.

There was no 'cure' for the condition, only treatment that involved changing the wavelength of light before it entered the person's eye. This was currently done by wearing tinted glasses. By personalizing glasses tints for each individual patient, Helen Irlen had been able to bring her patients some relief of their symptoms. Hermione went over this last paper skeptically - there weren't any scientific studies backing that assertion up, only anecdotal evidence.

The technical jargon and dense medical text was difficult to read, and it was _boring_. Hermione tried her best to get through it all, but her mind often wandered, frequently wondering if Crabbe and Goyle had dyslexia, and if the wizarding world had any concept of learning disabilities at all.

* * *

Though the end of her break was uneventful, the ride _back_ was _not_.

Hermione, in tradition with the other Slytherin girls, wore her nicest non-uniform clothes to the train, and Tracey had fairly squealed when she saw Hermione, dragging her onto the train and into a compartment with Millie and Daphne.

"Where's Blaise?" Hermione asked, looking around.

"Somewhere else," Tracey dismissed. "This is time for _girl talk_ , Hermione! Who gave you that cloak?"

"Anthony Goldstein," she admitted, and the other girls shrieked.

" _Again?_ " Millie said. "Didn't he get you that cape last year?"

"He did; she made a scene with it at the snow fight," Daphne said, smirking. She looked to Hermione. "Getting wearing it out of the way first?"

"I can hardly wear something blue in the castle without causing a stir, can I?" Hermione challenged, and the others laughed. "Anyone else get anything interesting?"

"Crabbe sent me gloves," Millie said, making a face. "Goyle sent me a scarf last year, though, and they're best friends, so I don't know _what's_ going on there."

"Clearly, Crabbe won the duel this year for your affections," Tracey teased. "How wonderful, to have boys fighting over you so early."

" _Duel?_ " Hermione commented. "More likely he won the arm-wrestling match or was the only one to remember how to spell _Millicent Bullstrode_ correctly on the envelope."

The others snickered, Millie rolling her eyes but smirking along with them.

"Cassius sent me a gown," Daphne told them, glowing with pride. "I think he's going to petition my father for my hand as soon as I'm of an age."

" _Of_ age, or of _an_ age?" Millie asked, looking sideways at Hermione.

"Of _an_ age," Daphne emphasized. Her eyes went wide. "I can't imagine anyone waiting until a witch was seventeen before attempting to petition for her hand—!"

"You aren't yet, then?" Tracey frowned. "Am I the only one?"

"No, me too," Millie told her. "In October."

"My mother says it can happen anytime while you're in Hogwarts, though it happens to most before the end of third year," Daphne said, shrugging. "My mother was fourteen herself, so I'm not particularly worried."

They were talking about _periods_ , Hermione realized. _That_ was the marker of when it was appropriate to begin formally courting a woman?

"Hermione has a question," Tracey sang. She started to laugh, and Hermione's head jerked up, startled.

"I was just thinking," she defended, but Tracey shook her head.

"You always get that look when you are puzzling over something particularly hard and are about to ask me and Millie about a million questions," she teased. "So – out with it. What is it now?"

Hermione gave Daphne a slow, evaluating look. She didn't mind admitting her ignorance of traditional wizarding ways in front of her closest friends, not anymore, but Daphne was another story. Daphne regarded her back, tilting her head, before her eyes lit in understanding.

"I will not hold your heritage against you," Daphne told her firmly. "I understand that Magic chose you from where there was none, and all that that implies. We all begin learning the traditions somewhere, after all."

That was… unexpected.

"That's very kind of you," Hermione said, surprised. "Thank you."

Daphne smiled. "Of course."

"So! What's got you all in a tizzy?" prompted Tracey.

"It's – I don't know how to say this without some crudeness, so forgive me – but you're all talking about getting your period, aren't you?" Hermione asked. "That's the indicator of when you 'come of an age'?"

"Your _what?_ " Millie said. "Your _period?_ "

"Yeah," Tracey said. "Only you call it your 'cycle' or 'menses', here."

"Ohh," Daphne said. She looked intrigued. "The muggles call it 'a period'? Why?"

"I—err, I have no idea. Maybe because it lasts for a period, or because it comes periodically?" Hermione shrugged. "Anyway – if guys aren't supposed to formally court you before you start your cycle, Daphne, does that mean they know when you _do?_ "

"Of course not!" Daphne looked horrified. "They only know when you've chrysalized."

"When you've crystallized?" Hermione repeated.

"No, when you've _chrysalized_ ," Daphne said. "As in, emerged from your chrysalis?"

" _What?_ "

"You need to take a step back," Millie told Daphne. "You need to start at the _very_ beginning. Presume you are teaching someone who knows nothing."

"I _did,_ " Daphne said. "How can one argue anything _but_ your chrysalization is the beginning?"

"A chrysalis?" Hermione looked horrified. "Like a cocoon for a moth?"

"Like for a _butterfly_ ," Tracey said. "It's a symbol – a girl who wears a butterfly into society for the first time indicates that she's chrysalized from a girl into a woman – that she's gotten her womanly cycle and can bear children, now."

"You wear a butterfly?" Hermione repeated. "Like, a dead one?"

Millie winced. "No, Hermione. Like jewelry."

She fished around in her robes, tugging out a small necklace with a beautiful monarch butterfly pendant.

"I wore this to all the holiday parties this season," Millie said. "Anyone who's anyone will have seen it and noticed, which lets them know I've come of an age."

"Mine was a pink lady hairclip," Tracey said. "I think I wore it all summer, whenever we went out."

"My mother's family has a beautiful purple swallowtail brooch that's been passed down for generations," Daphne said, her eyes far off in fantasy. "My mother's saving it for me."

Hermione fought to restrain from visibly recoiling.

"So you wear these accessories," she said, "that basically announce to the world that you've gotten your period?"

"That you've _started your cycle_ , Hermione," Tracey corrected, frowning. "And it's not _like_ that. With muggles it's just bleeding – my father didn't understand why my mother was so excited for me. It's a symbol of coming of age, of growing into your magical power, of becoming a woman in your own right, not just the daughter of your parents anymore."

"Butterflies start out as bugs, go through chrysalization, and come out beautiful and mature on the other side," Daphne said. "Just like us."

"The body of a butterfly _dissolves entirely_ during its metamorphosis from pupa to adult," Hermione shot back. "It is most definitely _not_ like us."

"Well, the lining of your womb is dissolving itself every month now, isn't it?" Tracey pointed out. "So it's not _too_ far off."

They all paused at that.

"Let's just stick with 'it's symbolic', shall we?" Millie said, looking severely grossed out. "The point is, there's a signal to society to let you know you've come of an age."

"Most people don't start making offers until you formally debut at a ball," Daphne said. "It's just – with my name – people will be making offers a little earlier for me to make sure they don't get left out or don't end up being too late."

"Sacred 28 bullshit," Millie said gloomily. "I wore the damn butterfly all break; my father's going to get swarmed with letters over the next few months, I bet, feeling him out over an arrangement."

"That's… not a good thing?" Daphne questioned, blinking. "You don't want to be betrothed?"

"Not all of us are pretty like you, Daphne," Millie commented, bitter. "You get the handsome Cassius Warringtons and Peter Selwyns of the world. The rest of us get to choose from the leftovers, the Averys and Yaxleys."

"Still," Daphne pressed. "I'd rather be betrothed sooner than later; that way I have longer to get to know my intended before I come of age to marry."

"Is _that_ age seventeen?" Hermione asked. "The age to marry?"

"Of course," Daphne said, as if it were obvious. "You can't enter into a binding magical contract until your magic's fully matured."

"Of course," Hermione said dully. "I don't know how I didn't realize that."

" _Anyway_ , Daphne got a gown, Millie got gloves, Hermione got a cloak," Tracey said. "And _I_ got a scarf!"

"You did?" Daphne sat up, excited. "From who?"

"From Adrian Pucey," she said smugly.

"The one you were snogging before break?" Daphne said, surprised.

"What colors are on the scarf?" Millie asked, eyes narrowing.

"Does _everyone_ know we were snogging?" Tracey complained. "And _yes_ , it's silver and green, Millie. But still!"

"Doesn't count, if it's house colors," Millie dismissed. "He just wants to flatter you so you'll keep snogging him."

"Maybe I _want_ to keep snogging him," Tracey said hotly. "I don't need to have a special gift to give a damn about that, do I?"

"Snog whomever you like," Hermione told her firmly. "Witches can snog for fun just as much as men can. More power to you."

"Thank you," Tracey said primly. "I'm quite happy with what I've got. Not all of us are obsessed with courting gifts."

"I'm not obsessed, I'm _annoyed,_ " Hermione complained. "I wish Anthony would stop making such big gestures. It makes things awkward. And now I've got this rose from Cedric, too, who I barely even _know_ , so who knows what _that's_ supposed to mean?"

"You got a _rose?_ " Tracey squealed, her previous ire immediately forgotten. "From _Cedric Diggory?_ He's _fit_ , Hermione!"

"How do you even know who he is?" demanded Hermione. "I only just met him. Have you snogged _him_ , too?"

"He's on the Quidditch team," Tracey said, waving her concerns off. "Now: rose! What color, Hermione? Tell us!"

"I… it's hard to describe," Hermione said. "Hang on…"

She got down her trunk and rummaged inside of it for the flower.

"Here," she said, handing it to Tracey. "You tell me what it means. It's like a cross between pink and light purple."

"Light pink and lavender," Daphne said automatically, looking at the rose. "Pale pink represents grace, admiration, and elegance. But lavender represents love at first sight and enchantment."

Hermione blinked. "Those are very different things," she said. "So which one is it?"

"It's _both_ , Hermione," Tracey sighed in a very over-exasperated manner. "When you can buy a rose of any color, you only get precisely the color you mean to send."

Hermione stared at her.

"I absolutely, point-blank refuse to believe that Cedric Diggory has fallen in love with me at first sight," Hermione said flatly, folding her arms. "I _know_ what I look like most days; I know I'm no beauty. And all I did when I met him the first time was argue with him about Hufflepuffs."

"Well, unless he's color-blind, that's what he's telling you," Tracey told her.

"Or that's what he _wants_ me to think, for whatever reason," Hermione muttered, "whether or not it's true."

"Hufflepuffs aren't particularly good at telling lies or planting implications, so I'd doubt it," Millie commented, her eyes alight. "But it'll sure be interesting to see Anthony and Draco get into a pissing contest over you with someone older than them now in the game, too."

Hermione's face flamed as the other girls laughed, teasing her, and the four of them gossiped and chatted happily the rest of the way back to school.


	140. Talking to Tolly

**A/N: I would like to warn the reader: In some of the coming chapters, Hermione may be acting what you would deem as 'out of character' or 'OOC'.**

 **I would like you to remember Hermione's previous characterization during these times, and** ** _know that this is purposeful_** **. I have not suddenly become a bad writer; everything done is** ** _deliberately_** **and for a _reason_. It will be resolved in the plot by the end of the school year.**

 **Please keep this in mind as we go back to Hogwarts for the second term…**

* * *

Over the winter break, in the wake of the most recent attack, the staff of Hogwarts had been busy, coming up with new security regulations designed to keep the students safe. Blaise had gotten the scoop on the train and was happy to fill her in at dinner.

"They're not actually serious about _catching_ the monster, mind you," Blaise commented over dinner. "But making it seem like they are Doing Something About It™."

"Why?" Hermione said cynically. "Because it was a _pureblood_ this time, so now somebody actually cares?"

Blaise looked at her sideways.

"The Travers family went to the media immediately, despite Dumbledore's request not to," he said, side-stepping the question. "After the public uproar from the write-up in the Prophet, Dumbledore had to be seen doing _something_. The Ministry even tried to arrest someone."

"Hagrid," Hermione said. "He was blamed for the Chamber opening last time, fifty years ago."

"My, my, my…" Blaise's eyes danced. "Somebody's been busy gossiping over her holiday…"

"Did you hear? Dumbledore's finally lost it," Draco announced, arriving at the Slytherin table with Theo and Pansy. "We're required to travel in _pairs_ all over the castle, now."

"Is that supposed to help?" Daphne asked. "Two first years are going to provide just as much of a challenge to the monster as one."

"I think it's being _heavily implied_ that the pairs should be of mixed blood statuses," Theo said. "Halfbloods with the Muggleborns, purebloods with the halfbloods, and so on."

Tracey snorted. "Is that supposed to protect everyone from the heir?" she asked. "Sure didn't help Lilian Travers, did it?"

"I think we all know why Lilian Travers got attacked," Theo said. His eyes went sideways to Hermione. "I don't think any – well, _many_ – others in Slytherin have anything to worry about."

The rest of her house carefully did not look at her, and Hermione felt a flush of pleasure. It was a heady feeling to realize her classmates fully believed it was her fault Lilian had been attacked. It _had_ been her fault, so it wasn't like she was tricking them, but it was still good to see them believing she had caused it and being intimidated by it.

"But the other houses are shoring up a buddy-system," Theo continued. "Making sure no one goes anywhere alone. Snape will tell us too, tonight, but at least we won't have to have assigned partners."

"The prefects aren't allowed to patrol at night anymore, either," Draco said. "Only the professors, now."

Hermione frowned.

"What if you need to go to another house, though?" she asked. "Like, if I want to go study with the Ravenclaws, I'm required to have someone walk me up from Slytherin to get there, now? But then they wouldn't be allowed to walk back alone, either."

"Either get a Ravenclaw escort, or don't get caught?" Theo advised, and Hermione made a face.

"These rules don't take effect until we hear them tonight, though, right?" she said. "Surely we can't be held to rules we haven't been told about yet by our head of house?"

"The other Houses were all told upon arrival back in the castle," Draco said. "The only reason we haven't been is Snape isn't as worried about us, and Dumbledore's been keeping him busy with something all break."

"Not my fault," Hermione said promptly, standing up. "I have to run, then. If this is the last chance I have to go anywhere alone, I have a _lot_ to get done."

"Where are you going, Hermione?" Blaise called after her, but Hermione ignored him and hurried from the hall.

She didn't go far – it was a couple twists, down one set of stairs, and she skidded to a stop in front of a painting of a large bowl of fruit. She looked up at it for a long moment and bit her lip, before tentatively tickling the apple.

There was a loud giggle, the sound of a fart, and a horrible smell of rotten apples filled the air, making Hermione gag. Holding her breath, she quickly tickled the pear, which turned into a door handle. She quickly wrenched it open and fled into the kitchens, taking deep breaths of the sweetly-smelling air, her nausea at the rotten apples gradually receding. A few nearby House Elves turned to look at her curiously.

"Hello," Hermione said, once she'd steadied her breathing. She offered them a smile. "Did you all have a nice break?"

The House Elves looked around to each other, puzzled. Hermione wondered if they didn't have a break, or if they didn't know how to respond to a witch asking them about their welfare. She sighed.

"Would one of you terribly mind bringing me some dessert?" she asked. "I'm afraid I missed it upstairs."

 _This_ , the elves seemed to know how to handle, and it was only a moment later that two elves were bustling over to her, urging her to sit down at a small table on the side and serving her pudding.

"Thank you," she told them, and they blushed in pleasure. "If you aren't needed for a moment, can I ask you some things?"

The elves looked confused, but they nodded, waiting.

"Before the break, there were several attacks," Hermione said. "But we only ever hear about the attacks on our classmates. Have any of the House Elves been attacked as well?"

The elves looked surprised and turned to look at each other with wide eyes, before turning back to Hermione.

"Elves is not in danger from the monster," the first elf told her. "But you is very kind to worry about us so."

"Elves also is not knowing where the monster is," the second elf warned her. "Dumbledore is already asking us."

"Do you know _what_ the monster is?" Hermione pressed, and the elves shook their heads.

"We has not been hearing anything whens cleaning," the first one told her. "If we hads heard, we would be saying so."

"Well," Hermione sighed, standing. "That's not entirely unexpected. Thank you anyway."

She stretched as she stood, glancing around the kitchen as she did, and the large fire at the end of the kitchen niggled at a memory.

"Err—" she said, trying to remember. She looked down at both of the elves, then at the bits of holly hung up about the kitchens. The holidays decorations struck a memory, bringing back her curiosity from Halloween. "Oh – who decides what is cooked for the feasts?"

"That is being the Head Elf," the second elf told her seriously. "Are you needing thems?"

"If you don't mind," Hermione said, and the other two elves trotted off.

A moment later, a slightly-more wrinkly-looking elf came over.

"I is Tolly," the elf told her. "I is Head Elf."

"Pleased to meet you, Tolly," Hermione said. "My name is Hermione Granger."

"How can Tolly be helping Missy Hermione?"

Hermione hesitated. "I understand you plan the courses of food for the large school feasts, Tolly?"

"I does," Tolly told her. "I is Head Elf. It is being my solemn responsibility."

"And," Hermione continued, "did you plan the feast foods this past end of October?"

Tolly's eyes rapidly narrowed at her.

"I dids," Tolly told her, a dangerous note to her voice. "Whats of it?"

It was a new experience to hear a House Elf being vaguely threatening. Hermione didn't quite know what to make of it.

"Did you have a nice holiday season?" Hermione asked carefully. "I see the bits of holly hung up around here."

Tolly looked at her carefully.

"Us elves cannots take weeks off for a break," Tolly told her, "but wes managed to have a nice three days to celebrate with just the other elves."

Tolly looked at her defiantly, but Hermione felt a flush of satisfaction.

 _Three_ days, not one.

Yule lasted three days – not Christmas.

She had been right – the elves _did_ keep the old traditions alive.

"That sounds lovely," Hermione told the Head Elf. "I'm glad you elves got to have a celebration yourselves. You all work very hard." She looked around at them all, then back to the Head Elf. "In fact, you should all probably take part of the evening off for just yourselves, tomorrow. Just relax, spend time with each other, and share baked apples and cider."

Tolly jerked suddenly in surprise, before _beaming_ at Hermione.

"I is thinking that is a fantastic idea," Tolly pronounced. "Maybe Tolly is having elves throw bits of holly in the fire, but I thinks wassail and apples is a very goods idea."

"Very good," Hermione said. She smiled back at the elf. "I am glad you are able to enjoy such an evening to yourself."

Tolly's face suddenly darkened.

" _Everyone_ should be beings able to enjoy apples and wassail on Wassail Eve," she muttered darkly. Her tone was mutinous for a moment, before her eyes darted back up to Hermione, large. "Would Missy Hermione be _wanting_ to come with the elves tomorrow?"

"I—me?" Hermione was incredibly flattered. "Oh, I couldn't possibly impose. I've never celebrated Wassail Eve before. And I'm not an elf."

"Is not an elf tradition," Tolly told her firmly. "Is a _magical_ tradition. And Missy Hermione is a magical being, too."

Well, that settled that.

"Honestly, I'd love to," Hermione told Tolly, "but the students are going to be forbidden to be out alone after tonight, and I don't know if I'd be able to sneak away."

Tolly grinned, revealing startlingly sharp teeth for a House Elf.

"We elves is having ways around that," Tolly told her smugly. "Missy Hermione just needs to be dressed warmly at night, and we will be doing the rest."


	141. Wassail Eve

The first day of classes was full of gossip and chatter, so much so that Hermione practically wondered why the professors bothered trying to have class at all. Students from houses across the board got points taken off for talking during class, passing notes, and creating bottlenecks in the hallways. Flitwick was pleading with students to focus and not be distracted, and Hermione had heard that even the cheerful Professor Sprout had snapped at people when they weren't paying attention. Snape seemed to be taking particular pleasure in descending upon groups of gossiping girls in the hallways and docking points from the lot of them, whereas McGonagall just seemed more and more exasperated with each group she came across.

There was just _so much_ to gossip about, though, that the students couldn't seem to _stop_. The safety changes were at the top of everybody's mind, as it was immediately obnoxious to have to take a classmate with you when you needed to use the bathroom instead of discretely excusing yourself. The professors docking points from anyone who forgot to have someone with them was an _very_ unpopular decision, but it did help everyone remember to go everywhere with someone else tagging along.

Next was the story of the Ministry descending on Hogwarts, only to find that Hagrid had fled the grounds. Many of the Hufflepuff students seemed to think this was a clear indication of guilt, but most of the rest of the school seemed to think Hagrid had done the smart thing. Gryffindors liked Hagrid and fiercely defended his innocence; Ravenclaws were of the opinion that it was an intelligent choice to do whatever necessary to avoid going to Azkaban, regardless of guilt; and Slytherins were of the opinion that there was _no way_ that ** _Hagrid_** was the _Heir of Slytherin,_ but good riddance to have him gone.

Stories of the Travers family's fury over the winter break circulated through the castle as well, with different facets percolating throughout the day. There was the story of the Travers family marching up to the castle the day break began, demanding to speak to Dumbledore and see their daughter; there was the story of the Travers' very public interview with _The Daily Prophet_ , given to force the Headmaster's hand; and there was the story whispered among the Slytherins, the story of how _Lilian Travers_ , a _pureblood_ , had been attacked, and what did that truly mean? Was she not a pureblood like the Travers' claimed? Surely if she _had_ been, the Heir would never have attacked her, right?

Hermione took distinct pleasure in overhearing Draco talking to Theo and Blaise about how his father was pushing for a subtle investigation into the Travers' family tree, sure that they must be hiding impurities _somewhere_ in their line if Lilian had been attacked. It meant that Hermione had managed to rattle _Lucius Malfoy_. He was the cretin behind all of this somehow, she was sure – he deserved to be uneasy about it like the rest of everyone, too.

But despite the gossip, Hermione found herself obsessing about the end of the day, when the elves would come to get her to attend their Wassail Eve celebration.

Hermione had _no_ real idea of what Wassail Eve consisted of, only the vaguest idea that the Druids used to celebrate it in groves. She knew that vestiges of it had traveled out to muggles, who now sang Christmas carols because of it, but she wasn't really sure what she was in for.

She _did_ know it involved drinking cider, eating apples, and _not_ making live sacrifices, though. So she was more excited than anxious about the whole thing.

After dinner, Hermione lurked around the common room for a while, watching other people play chess or get a start on their assignments. Once people finally filtered out, going to bed, Hermione made sure it looked like she was retiring along with them, yawning and changing into sleepwear and curling into bed. As soon as her dormmates' breathing evened out, though, she was up and out of bed, quickly changing into woolly tights, her warmest dress, and her heaviest cloak.

She hurried out into the common room, fussing with her scarf and mittens, when a House Elf popped into the common room, beaming at her.

"I is Mopsy," it told her proudly. "I is taking you to the Wassail Eve."

"Pleased to meet you, Mopsy," Hermione said, nodding to the elf. "Err—Do I just follow you?"

The House Elf giggled.

"No, Missy Hermione, we is being popping," it told her. "Nosy professors cannot be catching elves when they are popping about."

It offered her its hand, which Hermione took hesitantly.

"Now, we go!"

There was a sensation of being twisted tightly through a tube and her vision went black, and then they were going through a thin sheen of cold, like gliding through a veil of mist. There was vague feeling of a chill wind on her skin for a moment, as Hermione lost nearly all perception from her senses, before abruptly being reborn as they popped into existence again in a copse of trees outside.

Hermione staggered for a moment, fighting to regain her balance. She failed and fell over, landing in the soft snow. She sighed and just laid in the snow a moment, looking up at the dark, clear sky. The elf hurried over to her.

"Is Miss okay?"

She sat up slowly, her eyes meeting Mopsy's.

"I'm fine," Hermione told the worried elf. "That's—that just wasn't what I was expecting."

"Elves' popping is much nicer than wizards' popping," the elf informed her. "Wizards is squeezing tightly to go through the air tunnels. Elves' popping is popping in and out of veils to get from place to place. Much nicer."

"I've never been Apparated," Hermione said. "I've only ever traveled by Portkey before."

Mopsy made a face.

"Portkeys is being even worse," it told her. "Yanking at Missy's magical core… Portkeys is not to be trusted. Elves is disliking them for good reasons."

"I'll keep that in mind, then." Hermione got to her feet, dusting the snow off her cloak and robes, before looking around. "Where… where are we?"

"We is in the grove," the elf told her, its eyes alight. "It is Wassail Eve, and it is time. Come – Tolly is waiting."

They walked through the trees; many of them apple trees, from what Hermione could tell. There was a glow from a fire ahead of them, despite the snow, and Hermione could see dozens of small creatures dancing around. There was a tingle in the air, almost physically palpable, and Hermione was surprised to realize she recognized it.

"There's _magic_ in the air," she said, awed. "I can _feel_ it."

Mopsy gave her an amused look.

"It is Wassail Eve, and we is in a Druid grove," the elf told her. "Did you be thinking there would _not_ be magic about?"

As they neared the fire, Hermione looked around. There was a large circle of trees surrounding the small clearing the fire was in, each one of them of a different type. She drifted away from Mopsy, slowly going around the outside of the circle and looking at the different woods, running her hand over the bark.

"Has Missy Hermione never been to a Druid grove before?"

Hermione looked up to see Tolly looking at her. Hermione gave her an embarrassed look.

"I have not," she admitted. "This is… this is amazing. The Druids planted these?"

"Theys did," Tolly told her. She gave her a wizened smile. "Wizards is forgetting the old ways a long time ago, but we elves is keeping them. Come – it is Wassail Eve, and you is to be joining in on the fun."

Hermione obediently followed Tolly to the fire, where the elves were celebrating.

Cider and apples were set up on an odd, ramshackle sort of wooden table to the side of the clearing, and many elves had mugs in their hands. They were singing and chanting and laughing, and they were throwing the bits of holly that had hung around the walls of Hogwarts into the fire. Some elves were teasing others and urging them to jump over the fire, and Hermione watched on in awe as they did so, leaping high into the air, doing flips and twists.

"I didn't know elves could jump so high," she said, impressed.

"Elves is being nimble and twisty," Tolly told her. "We is having good bodies for being twisty."

Hermione watched as another elf launched itself over the large bonfire, doing a flip and landing on the other side with a neat somersault. "I can see that."

Tolly led her over to the table where a few elves were helping pass out apples and cider. There was what looked like fruit-studded bread, too.

"Miss!" The elves at the table's eyes grew large, and they both bowed hurriedly. "Cheers on this Wassail Eve!"

"Cheers to you as well," Hermione said, unsure of the traditional response. "Err—is this mulled cider?"

"This is being Wassail Ale," one of the elves told her, its eyes nearly reverent. "It is being mostly mulled cider, but it is being other spices and things thrown in as well."

Hermione accepted the mug it offered to her, the metal warm in her hands. "Thank you."

"You is most welcome, Missy!" the elf beamed at her. "We is glad you is coming to the grove."

The Wassail Ale was warm, spiced, and surprisingly good. There wasn't the burn of alcohol Hermione had been cautiously expecting, but there was another sort of undertaste that she couldn't quite make out. She finished her cup faster than she expected, and before she knew it, an elf had handed her another.

"Wassail!" it told her, eyes alight, before skipping off with her empty cup, and Hermione mentally shrugged as she wandered over near the fire.

The elves were continuing to dance and chant and sing and flip over the fire, sometimes breaking out into clapping patterns that they all seemed to recognize and know. Hermione watched from the side, sipping her hot drink. It was fascinating to see the elves celebrate and to get a glimpse of their secret culture.

As she watched, it was as if the elves left trails of sparkles in the air as they flipped over the fire. As her ears adjusted, she began to make out the words of the song they were singing:

 _Wassail the trees, that they may bear_

 _You many a plum and many a pear_

 _For more or less fruits they will bring_

 _As you do give them wassailing_

This song was usually followed by a series of loud calls and hollering and many "hurrah"s, before the clapping and singing and skipping began again and again.

There was something in the mulled cider, Hermione gradually realized. The sparkles left in the air matched the tingle of magic in the air, somehow, and she could _feel_ it, now. Her mind seemed almost hazy, somehow, but still clear and sharp of thought.

"We is going to do the Wassail Ceremony."

Hermione looked down to see Tolly and two other elves looking up at her.

"Oh," Hermione said. "This isn't the ceremony itself?"

The elves all laughed at her, their laughter light and high and teasing.

"This is just being part of wassailing," Tolly told her, smiling fondly. "We is going to make our offering to the Old Tree soon." The Head Elf paused. "We is wondering if you will be our Wassail Queen."

"If I'll _what?_ " Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Tolly, with all due respect, I have no idea what that even _is_ , and I wouldn't have slightest idea how to go about doing such a thing. I came to watch and help participate from the side, but I honestly don't—"

"We is helping you," Tolly said firmly. "And Missy Hermione has stronger magic than all of us elves. Her being Wassail Queen will strengthen the offering and make for a better wassail."

"I—wait, what?" Hermione was fighting to keep up. "I have stronger magic than you?"

Tolly looked uncomfortable.

"Wizard magic is being stronger than elf magic," she admitted. "We elves is better at _using_ magic, but wizards is able to have more of it in themselves."

That was curious, Hermione noted. "You mean my magical reserve?"

"Tolly is having no idea what that is," Tolly told her, looking exasperated. "But Missy Hermione is being able to have more magics held in her body than us elves."

"Okay," Hermione said, slowly following along. "But then… what magic do elves use?"

"We is using our own magic," Tolly said, "but we is also often just using the other magic of the world."

" _What_ other magic?" Hermione wanted to know.

" _This_ is being the other magic."

Tolly spread her little arms wide, spinning about.

"You is _seeing_ it, you is _feeling_ it," Tolly told her. "Can you not be feeling the magic in the air from our wassail?"

"I—"

"You is being the Wassail Queen," Tolly told her firmly. "Come. Follow."

Hermione let herself be tugged closer to the fire by the Head Elf. Her head seemed somehow woozy, but her vision was still sharp.

"Wassail!" Tolly called out loudly over the fire.

"Wassail!" the other elves answered. "Wassail!"

"We is here on Wassail Eve to offer to the trees," Tolly announced. "Come, let us be wassailing the Old Tree."

The elves all gathered near the table with the cider and apples. Tolly looked at Hermione.

"I is being the Wassail King and soaking the bread," Tolly told her. "I is then bringing it to you. You is then being the Wassail Queen and giving the bread to the Old Tree."

"I—aren't you a girl?" Hermione said. "Can you be King like that?"

"I is being a boy, then." Tolly shrugged, uncaring, and there was a brief shimmer in the air. "There. Now I is able to be King."

Hermione watched as the elf went over to the table, taking a slice of the fruit-studded bread and soaking it in the last of the cider. The elves behind Hermione were all humming, all in different pitches that somehow harmonized into resonating low tones.

Tolly came back with the bread and offered it to Hermione.

"We is going to the Old Tree, now," Tolly told her firmly. "Missy Hermione is to be following me."

Hermione held the sticky bread carefully, cupping her hands under it to keep as much liquid drenched in it as possible. She followed Tolly, who was singing, and the other elves were singing along. Some had small lutes and flutes, and Hermione hadn't the slightest idea where those had come from.

They went along a path in the snow until they came to a very, very large tree.

"This is the Old Tree," Tolly said reverently.

The elves fell into a hush.

"We is lifting you up into the tree," Tolly explained. "You is then giving the tree the Wassail bread. We is then saying the chant, and then we wassail."

"You're going to lift me up?" Hermione repeated, astonished. "…you realize I'm much taller and quite heavier than you, right?"

"We is using magic," Tolly said firmly. "Now, Missy Hermione, when you is offering the bread, you is feeling the Old Tree. This is where you can be offering your magic to the Old Tree with the Wassail bread." The elf paused. "Us elves is usually offering as much as we can, but Missy Hermione is not needing to do that – wizard magic is more and is more strong. But if Missy Hermione offers too much, we elves will catch you and be taking you home."

 _That_ startled Hermione, her imagination conjuring images of elves collapsing and falling backwards out of tall trees.

"I will do my best," Hermione promised, and Tolly beamed. With a raised hand and a gesture, the elves fell into a hush, moving forward, their eyes alight.

Hermione was pushed towards the tree by many tiny hands until she stood at the very base of it, looking up at the thick trunk. She glanced back, seeing the elves waiting, excited, and she nodded.

Slowly, she began to feel herself rise through the air. It was different from when she levitated herself with the air elemental; it was less a feeling of _flight_ and more a feeling of _rising_ , as if ascending on an invisible platform pushing up through the ground. She looked down at the elves as they pushed her up, some of them holding their hands up as they did, and she was surprised to see sparkles left behind in the air, trailing in her wake.

She reached the lowest branches of the trees, and Hermione careful stepped out of the way as she kept rising, until she was able to bend down and neatly sit on one of the branches, her hands still cupped with the bread. Thus steadied, she felt the pushing feeling of magic fade away, and she turned to the tree.

The trunk of the tree had what looked like a small mouth in it, somehow – a knot that had malformed, perhaps, or perhaps the tree had somehow genuinely opened a mouth. Hermione felt surprise tickle the back of her mind, but the rest of her was too bound up in the magic of the moment as she instinctively leaned forward, placing the bread in the mouth of the tree, and sealing the hole by holding her hands over the mouth.

The elves below her began to chant.

" _Apple tree, apple tree, we all come to wassail to thee,"_ they chanted. " _Bear this year to bloom and to blow, as we wassail and make the spirits go. We honor magic, we see it through; please give back what we give to you!"_

There was a sudden _rush_ of magic in the air that Hermione could feel rush into the tree, and at the same time, Hermione could feel the tree _pulling_ at her magic, her own magic rushing out of her and into the wood, her body instinctively having _pushed_ her own power into the tree at the right moment the elves had set.

She mentally traced her magic to find her magical pool inside, and Hermione watched as her magic flowed out and into the tree. It was almost as if she could see it empty, sending sparkling purple swirls throughout the bark. After she was halfway drained, she could feel her core start to regenerate already, making the last half of her power much slower to drain as it constantly fought to refill, and she pushed out _more_ , giving the tree magic faster than her core could make.

As she finally felt fully drained (a familiar feeling to her, as she still practiced every night), Hermione pulled back from the tree, separating her hands from the mouth. As soon as she did, she suddenly was gasping for air with her head spinning, not realizing she hadn't been breathing fully until she'd suddenly lacked oxygen. Her chest heaving, she looked back at the tree, wanting to see the sparkles.

The tree seemed to faintly glow with white and lilac sparkles and power.

The bread in its mouth was gone.

As she caught her breath, gradually coming back to herself, Hermione became aware that there were elves dancing through the rest of the orchard, banging pots and pans, yelling and whooping as they did. Carefully, Hermione lowered herself from the tree, hanging from the lowest branch and falling the last several feet to land in the snow, dizzy.

Tolly offered her a hand up, smiling. "Missy Hermione did well."

Hermione blinked at the tiny elf's hand, then took it. The elf had more strength than she realized; somehow, she was pulled and leveraged up without difficulty.

"Missy Hermione is giving much magic to the tree," Tolly told her. "There is being many more apples now next year, and the trees is being very happy."

"The trees are happy?" Hermione questioned. Her mind felt slow and sleepy, a quiet exhaustion creeping up on her. "How can you tell?"

"They is dancing," Tolly told her. "You can see."

The trees were all drifting slightly in the wind, as far as Hermione could tell, but as her eyes unfocused, she could see faint trails of sparkles behind the moving boughs and branches, leaving magic in their wake.

"I see," Hermione said, her eyes fluttering and fighting to stay open. "It's beautiful…"

Without realizing it, Hermione was leaning against the Old Tree, slowly sliding down its bark to lie in the snow.

"Missy Hermione is not to worry," she heard Tolly say from over her, as her eyes closed. "We is making sure you is getting back home."


	142. A Small Riot

Hermione awoke the next morning on time, in her sleepwear, feeling fully rested and rejuvenated. She didn't feel as if she'd spend half the night wassailing in the trees at all, and she briefly wondered if she had dreamed the entire thing.

As she sat up, rubbing her eyes, her vision snagged on an apple left on her nightstand.

She smiled.

* * *

Breakfast with the others was a grumpy affair, as was the day. The students at large were still hugely annoyed with having to travel in pairs, and it showed. Hermione alone seemed to be in good cheer, but she was careful to conceal it from her friends throughout the day, listening to them complain and letting them grumble.

At least it wasn't just the Slytherins sulking about being treated like children. The other houses seemed just as put out, too. Gryffindors roamed the halls in moody duos, grumbling and grousing. The Ravenclaws clearly resented the restrictions on their freedom to go to the library and study where they wanted, _alone_ , and they went about glaring at teachers and staging loud conversations about how many students a monster could eat at once (answer: a lot more than two). Even the Hufflepuffs were sulky - large groups of them had taken to going everywhere together in little pods, clogging the hallways and innocently defending themselves to the teachers, citing how they 'just wanted to be safe'.

Hermione didn't realize that Hufflepuffs could be so facetious.

After dinner, Theo agreed to go along with her to the library, and Hermione spent the evening looking through books on color-changing charms and spells.

"Not going to do your homework?" Theo commented, looking at her stack judgmentally.

"I did the Transfiguration essay while Binns was prattling on," Hermione said.

Theo made a face. "How? McGonagall wanted information not in the textbook."

"I had a supplemental book in my bag," Hermione said lightly. "It just so happened to help a lot."

Theo rolled his eyes in exasperation and sighed over-dramatically, and Hermione smirked in amusement as she went back to her research.

When Theo and Hermione returned to the common room shortly before curfew, they were surprised to enter into a large, loud gathering. The entire house seemed to be crowded around in a circle and yelling, with the prefects in the center, trying to manage things and calm people down.

"This is dragonshit!" a guy cried from the crowd. "I'm of age! I should be able to go where I want, _when_ I want!"

"We should be allowed to go alone if we accept the danger," a girl agreed loudly. "I, for one, am not scared in the slightest of the Heir _or_ the Monster coming after me."

The prefects called out over the crowd, fighting to regain control, but the frustrations and objections of the crowd seemed overwhelming, the Slytherins' fury at the security changes boiling over. Hermione caught Jade shoot another prefect a helpless look, and the other prefect only looked resigned and shrugged.

"We shouldn't have to do this!"

"It's not our fault the Heir hasn't been caught!"

"None of this is fair!"

"Yeah!"

The arguing grew louder as the crowd pressed in on the prefects from the outside, when the common room door opened abruptly. A chill wind blew into the common room, sending all the lamps and candles flickering ominously, and the room fell into a hush.

Professor Snape emerged from the darkness as the candle flames steadied themselves, his cloak billowing behind him. He looked down at them with cold, glittering eyes.

"What," he breathed, "is the meaning of all this?"

Hermione nearly moaned aloud in her jealousy. _She_ wanted to learn how to make a dramatic entrance like that.

The clamber of noise broke out again at a lower volume, several of the older Slytherins all telling Snape their complaints at once. Snape just stood there, one eyebrow raised, as he listened to them all go on about how unfair it was. After a few minutes he raised a hand, and the common room rapidly fell silent. Snape moved to stand in front of the window that peered out into the lake, the eerie green glow of the lake illuminating him from behind.

"I understand you are frustrated," Snape said, his voice soft. "Security discussions among the staff were fierce; I voted against having such measures put into place. Obviously, I was outvoted, and here we are."

Fierce expressions of outrage flickered throughout the crowd, and Hermione wondered if cruel pranks against professors would see a sudden uptick.

"Nevertheless, these restrictions are what is in place," Snape said, "for the _entire_ school, until the perpetrator is caught, be it man or monster. The Ministry is alarmed about the monster and students' safety." His eyes took on a dark glint. "How do you think it would look to the rest of the world, if everyone _but_ Slytherin was worried about being attacked?"

Students exchanged uneasy glances, Hermione and Theo glancing at each other as well. It was fairly clear that if they were the only ones not afraid of the monster, everyone else would pin the blame for the entire thing on them.

"The staff and the Headmaster are working tirelessly on the matter. You are not the only frustrated ones." He paused, his own annoyance at having to deal with this weighing heavily in the air. "I will share this with you, though I expect it not to leave the House." Snape's eyes gleamed in the shadows. "The Headmaster suspects a Dark object to have been brought into Hogwarts. He is convinced the Dark Lord is somehow behind this."

Loud objections broke out at that, students protesting that that was ridiculous, the Dark Lord was vanquished, an object wasn't a monster, and all manner of other thoughts. Snape held up his hand once more, and they all fell silent.

"I tell this to you so you might keep your eyes sharp from the shadows," he said softly. "Slytherin has a skill for noticing Dark objects more easily because of our history; of any students in the school, you are the most likely recognize such objects amongst your classmates." His eyes scanned the crowd, making eye contact. "Understand that until the perpetrator is caught, these restrictions will remain in place, and they will only grow more stringent as time passes."

The group murmured, and Snape looked out over them all.

"Any questions?" he asked.

"Sir?"

Hermione turned to see Draco raising his hand, looking pale up determined. Snape seemed to fight the urge to sigh.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Sir, if the Headmaster seems to think that a Dark object is causing all of this," Draco said, "is he likely to send people to search through students' things?"

There was a murmur and expressions of shock at this. Hermione herself felt a bolt of terror – if she were ever caught with the trunk of Voldemort's books…

"At this time, it is unlikely." Snape's lips curled. "The outrage from parents over the violation of their children's privacy would far outweigh the benefits of doing such a thing." He paused. "If there is another attack, however…" He trailed off, his eyes flickering with meaning. "Who could say?"

Draco nodded, shaken. "Thank you, sir."

 _Note to self:_ Hermione thought. _Catch the Heir or kill the monster before Dumbledore goes through our stuff._

With no further questions, Snape gave them a tight nod and swept from the common room, several of them turning to watch him go, robes billowing in his wake. Hermione was one of them, watching the professor leave as Blaise sidled up to her.

"I wonder how he does that," Hermione murmured. "Do you think he charms his robes?"

"I doubt it," Blaise said. "Too easy to have the charm wear off if someone casts _Finite Incantantem_ , then. Clothing charms only really hold properly if they're done while the garment is being constructed."

Hermione considered if it was likely Snape had asked a tailor for such charms to be laid into the construction of his robes, or if it was likely Snape had decided to sew his own robes, before dismissing both ideas.

"He might just be taking really long strides," Blaise said, his lips quirked, and Hermione sighed.

"That's not the answer I was hoping for," she said. "I'll _never_ be as tall as all that."

Blaise laughed. "Would you want to?" he teased. "I imagine it'd be awfully difficult to find those tight muggle trousers in a size like that for a woman."

"Find what?"

Hermione looked up to see Draco joining them. Blaise's lips twitched with amusement.

"Hermione and I were just discussing Snape's robes," Blaise said. "I pointed out that they might billow from his taking long strides, and Hermione bemoaned that she'd never be able to mimic that because she'll never be that tall."

Hermione rolled her eyes while Draco snickered, before giving Hermione a cursory glance up and down.

"You're rather tall for a girl, though," he pointed out. "How tall are you?"

"I'm 5'8", I think?" Hermione said. "Though I think I'm done with my growth spurt."

Draco smirked, pleased. "My father is 5'10". I think I'll end up at least as tall as him."

"And Hermione would care… because?" Blaise drawled. He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione again felt envious of the move. "I would think you would be more concerned with the possibility of the Headmaster searching your things, Malfoy."

Draco scoffed. "Snape said that—"

"—we weren't likely to get searched unless another attack happened," Blaise finished. His eyes gleamed. "Do _you_ think it's likely the Heir would just… stop?"

Draco paled, and Blaise's lip curled. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"We'll have a few weeks, at least," she said. "The Heir was spacing out attacks before, and they're not likely to attack anyone right now with all the new security measures. Those would take time to figure out a way around."

Draco looked slightly relieved.

"Both very good points," he said. "Though, it's getting late. If you would excuse me…"

He nodded to them as he went off to the dorm rooms, Blaise smirking after him.

"How many Dark things to you think he'll need to hide?" Blaise asked. "Over/under five?"

"Talk to Tracey if you want to make bets," Hermione said, amused. "I haven't the slightest. I bet not as many as he lets people think, though – I doubt he'd take the risk."

"Oh?" Blaise questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think there's someone in Slytherin who would have more forbidden things than Draco?"

"Oh," Hermione said, her mind flying to the trunk locked under her bed. "You never know."


	143. Irlen Syndrome

**A/N: A note on heights:** **I was 6'0" at twelve and a half years old when I got my period, and I haven't grown since then. I knew girls who had their growth spurts at age ten and were at their final heights at age eleven. Hermione is close to thirteen and a half at this point. Her growth spurt is perfectly within average age range and 5'8" is a reasonable height to stop at.**

* * *

"You want me to what?"

Susan gave her a quizzical look, and Hermione winced.

"Look through colored lenses," she repeated. "I know it sounds crazy, but I spent all break reading about this. I think this might actually help."

Susan gave her a blank look, before shrugging.

"Alright," she said. She gestured to one of the low, squashed couches in the recessed part of the Hufflepuff common room. "Can't hurt, can it?"

Hermione made a face. "Actually, it might. Most people say they get the worst headache of their life from this."

Susan's eyebrows went up, but she didn't say anything.

"Granger is good."

Hermione turned to see Gregory Goyle nodding at Susan, emphatic.

"She's good," Greg repeated. "She's smart. She helps me and Vince at Charms all the time."

Susan gave him a flat look.

"You are in our common room for the _sole reason_ that Hermione was not allowed to come up here _alone_ ," she told him, annoyed. "Don't presume to talk to me like I care about your opinion."

"He's not that bad, Susan," Hannah objected, moving to shield Greg from view. "I grew up with him."

"He's a bully," Susan sniffed. She turned back to Hermione, who had wisely held her tongue.

"I'm ready," she said. "How are we doing this?"

Hermione opened a box. "With these."

Hermione had gotten a pair of plain round reading glasses from the drugstore over the break, punched out the lenses, duplicated them, and charmed each one a with different tint of color. She still wasn't sure why people would wear reading glasses without a prescription, but she supposed it might be a fashion thing.

Testing for Irlen Syndrome was was similar-ish to a normal eye test. Hermione had a poster with words on it that she charmed to stick to the wall, and Susan had to hold up sets of different colored lenses to her eyes to look through, over and over again, to determine if the letters were clearer, fuzzier, moving, warped, or changing.

"What is this?" Susan said, peering through the lenses. "' _It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…_ '? That doesn't make any sense."

"It's a quote from a famous muggle book," Hermione said, flushing. "I borrowed it from my mum. It doesn't matter. Now, do the words look any different?"

The words didn't look any different through red tinted lenses, Susan determined quickly determined, nor pink or yellow or lime. When she got to green, she paused.

"It… It looks _different_ ," she said finally. "Not better? But… different."

Hermione made a note on her parchment. "Alright. Try the blue."

The blue made the words clearer, Susan reported, excitement growing in her voice. They were still moving, but the edges were sharper.

"The grey?"

The grey also seemed to help some, while the deep purple did not. Hermione made notes, before checking over her list of possibilities.

"Now we need to find the _exact_ perfect shade," she said. "We're going to hold them up, two at a time, until the words are clear."

It took upwards of an hour, Hermione sitting with Susan as she held different lenses up to her eyes, adding and subtracting slight tints. The 40% blue tint was too much, but the 20% blue paired with a 10% gray seemed to help, and with a 20% turquoise as well…

"Alright," Hermione said, crossing out the last possibility. "The ones that help the most are these three. Let's try it – hang on."

She took out another duplicate pair of the glasses she'd saved. They had very round, silver frames with nose pads, and Hermione withdrew her wand, drawing a circle over each lens before tapping them.

 _"Colovaria."_

The shade of the lenses changed to a bright teal color, and Hermione handed them to Susan, who looked at the frames for a long moment with mild distaste before looking at Hermione.

"If these work," she said, "we can charm the lenses for any set of frames, right?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Of course."

Susan put the glasses on, blinked a few times, and looked around.

"Things look different, but it's just a bit darker, really," she said. "I thought everything would look blue."

"The fact that it doesn't look blue is a good sign," Hermione said. She handed her a book. "Here; try reading. Let's see if it's different now."

Susan took a deep breath, steadying herself, and took the book. "Alright."

Hermione watched as Susan, with some trepidation, opened the book.

It was immediately apparent that something was different.

At first, Susan looked surprised, then astonished, then rapt. Hermione watched as Susan's eyes rapidly scanned the page, eyes wide, before she flipped to the middle of the book to a different page, reading rapidly again, then to another page and reading again.

"Do they help?" Hermione prodded gently.

Susan's eyes flew to her, still wide.

"I—" She seemed lost for words. "I—Hermione, I can _read._ "

"The words are staying still?" Hermione asked, wanting confirmation. "They're not lifting off the page?"

"They're _not._ " Susan's voice was quavering, now, as if she was torn between excitement and crying. "They're just… _there._ They're just sitting still. I know that must sound so _stupid_ to you, but I didn't realize just how much they floated until now. All the letters are sitting _still—!_ "

She threw herself at Hermione, knocking the wind out of her, and hugged her fiercely, Hermione tentatively putting her arms around Susan.

"I owe you _so much_ ," Susan said, her voice muffled in Hermione's shoulder. "I'm going to be able to _read_ my _textbooks_ without a headache—!"

"I'm just glad I was able to help," Hermione said, uncomfortable. "Oh – speaking of headaches…"

She rummaged in her bag, withdrawing a Headache Potion and offering it to Susan.

"I know you feel like you can see without any issue now, but you just put your eyes and your brain through the _wrong_ colors for ages," Hermione explained. "If you don't have a migraine now, you will soon. It's better if you take this now and head it off at the pass."

Susan shrugged. "Okay."

Hermione was mildly surprised to see Susan just down the potion as if it were nothing. She didn't even pause to sniff it to make sure it was only a Headache potion. She _could_ have noticed the label from the Hospital Wing, from where Hermione had procured it, but it would have been easy for Hermione to pour out and replace with something more devious if she had wanted.

Susan caught her surprised look and gave her a cheeky grin.

"You spent your entire break trying to help me, and you just sat here for hours helping me figure this out," Susan said, amused. "You didn't need to do _any_ of that, Hermione. I hardly think you'd be about to poison me now."

Hermione snorted. "If I were going to poison you, I'd be more subtle than to just give it to you in a bottle."

Susan laughed as if Hermione had told an uproarious joke, and after a pause, Hermione joined in.

"I am in your debt," Susan told Hermione, taking her hand and bowing over it deeply. A necklace with a ring on it fell out of her robes, she was bowing so low. "You may not feel as though you have done much, but you have done me a boon. Know that I recognize this and will honor this, and I will repay you somehow someday."

"It's fine." Hermione felt uneasy. "Like I said, I'm just glad I could help."

Susan stayed bowed over her hand very low. "No. I am in your _debt_ , Hermione."

"It's fine, really—"

"You have to say, 'Your debt is our bond, and may magic see to thee.'"

Hermione whirled around to see Cedric Diggory standing slightly behind her, grinning.

"The Bones family is _very_ traditional," he told her. "The custom acknowledgement is 'your debt is our bond'. Or something like that, I think."

Hermione's mind flashed back to ancient etiquette book she'd read over a year ago, her memory flying over the traditional wording.

"Ah—Susan, your debt is our bond," Hermione said quickly. "May this bond strengthen us as sisters in magic, and may magic see to thee."

"So mote it be," Susan said firmly.

There was a swirl of magic around their hands, a ribbon of turquoise that tied a bow and then vanished, and Susan stood up, beaming.

"I can't believe these _work!_ " she crowed, fiddling with her glasses. "I'm going to go find Hannah! I'll be right back!"

She ran off to the other side of the common room, where Hannah, Ernie, Greg and one other were playing Exploding Snap. Hermione watched Susan run over before turning back to Cedric, who was still grinning.

"I have a debt bond with Susan now?" she said faintly. "I don't even know what that _is_."

Cedric waved it off, sitting down across from her at the other end of the squashy couch.

"It's a minor bond," he said. "Like I said, the Bones are very traditional. Susan wouldn't _not_ acknowledge it formally, whereas most people would just say 'thank you' and be done with it."

"What does it do?" Hermione asked.

"It helps keep her aware chances to repay you," he said with a shrug. "Once she does, you'll see the magic dissolve."

"So…" Hermione gnawed on her lip. "Magic decides what is fair turnabout?"

"I guess." Cedric looked amused by all her questions. "They're not generally used anymore. And it's nothing so serious as a Life Debt. Most people don't even know about debt bonds, really. I don't know if anyone anymore knows exactly how they work."

"I suppose that makes sense," Hermione sighed. "I just hate not knowing things."

She stood up to get her poster, carefully detaching it from the wall and rolling it up carefully. She slipped it back in the cardboard tube she had brought it in and stashed it back in her bag.

"I was surprised by your choice of reading material," Cedric said casually. "Not what I expected."

Hermione gave him a look. "What did you expect?"

Cedric hummed, considering.

"Poetry, most likely," he said. His eyes glinted with mischief. "You seem the type to have a secret love for poetry and language and prose. I didn't peg you for a Dickens lover."

"I'm not," Hermione admitted. "It's my mother's. She loves—" She cut herself off, giving Cedric a sharp look. "Wait. How do _you_ know it's Dickens?"

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "Because I've read it…?"

Before she could say anything, he was clearing his throat, then reciting:

" _It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness."_ His voice had taken on a deep, resonant tone as he recited, and Hermione felt herself sit up, listening more closely. " _It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity. It was the season of light, it was the season of darkness_." His eyes met hers, and Hermione shivered. " _It was the spring of hope… it was the winter of despair."_

Hermione stared at him a moment as he finished, before starting to clap despite herself at his dramatic recitation, laughing.

"Even if you just memorized that off the poster in the last couple hours, that's still fairly impressive," Hermione said, smiling. "I don't like Dickens, generally, but that opening is known to be one of the best ever."

"You think I memorized the quote on the wall just now to impress you?" Cedric grinned. "Hermione, I'm _hurt._ "

"I didn't say to _impress_ me," Hermione objected, her face going red. "I just said that it was _possible_ —"

"After all I've done to improve your opinion of me," Cedric said, taking on injured tones. "You question my intent, you doubt my love of muggle literature, you ignore me when I send you a rose—"

His eyes glinted with mischief, and Hermione couldn't contain herself.

"Why?" she asked.

Cedric blinked.

"Why what?"

"Why did you send me a rose?" she wanted to know.

Cedric looked at her, puzzled.

"Do you not know the language of flowers, Hermione?" he asked finally. "I know there are books on it—"

"No, I got all that, I asked Tracey and Daphne about it on the train," Hermione said, waving it off. "They told me what the colors meant. But _why?_ "

Cedric looked confused.

"If you know what it means, what do you mean, why did I send it to you?" Cedric asked.

"Because it doesn't make any sense," Hermione said promptly. "Daphne said that said pale pink represents 'grace, admiration, and elegance' and that lavender represents 'love at first sight and enchantment'."

Cedric was openly staring at her now.

"How does that not make any sense?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Well… because…" Hermione faltered at the genuine confusion in his eyes, before gathering herself back up again, determined. "You have no _reason_ to send me a rose like that. It isn't—it doesn't—"

She grasped for words, trying to explain, when she saw comprehension flare in Cedric's eyes.

"Do you get it now?" she asked, relieved. "It looks like you understand what I'm trying to get at—"

"I understand perfectly."

Cedric moved from the couch to the ottoman right next to her. He sat up very straight, his knees touching hers, and Hermione felt her mouth go dry.

He really _was_ very fit.

"Hermione," he said. "We met a few weeks ago now, right?"

Hermione wracked her brain.

"Err—yes, I think?" she said. "Maybe a little over a month? It was a bit before the end of term."

"And how did we meet?"

Hermione looked at him blankly.

"I—I came down to give Hufflepuff a fruit basket," she said. "Because of Justin."

"You did," Cedric said. He gave her a small grin, as if pleased that she'd gotten it right, and Hermione found herself grinning back a bit. "Now: what were you like that night?"

Hermione blinked.

"I—what?"

"What were you like?" he said patiently. "Were you cheerful? Were you mean? Were you tired?"

"I…"

Truth be told, Hermione hadn't the slightest idea. She'd been determined, she knew; she'd needed to spread the rumor about Alexia Rosier amongst the Hufflepuffs. But she rather thought she'd hidden that.

"I was… sympathetic?" Hermione ventured. "Because of Justin?"

Cedric raised an eyebrow, and Hermione felt like she'd failed a test.

"Do you know what I saw that night?" he asked her, and Hermione shook her head.

Cedric leaned in a bit, his eyes holding hers.

"I saw a beautiful witch from Slytherin come to offer solace to Hufflepuff in a time of need," he said. "I saw someone we'd consider an enemy sit down to mourn with us and offer us a formal token of sympathy and grief. And then I saw that same witch gradually draw her classmates out of their fear and sadness, teasing them about Herbology until they were distracted and smiling again."

His eyes were dark, holding hers intensely, and Hermione wasn't sure if she was still breathing.

"And then…" His manner lightened, and he offered her a charming grin, one that made Hermione's heart skip. "Then I decided to talk to that witch. Not only did she compliment Hufflepuff, stating with utter faith none of us could ever be so evil as to be the Heir—"

That wasn't _exactly_ what she'd said, but Hermione wasn't about to correct him.

"—but she then argued back with me, fierce as any badger when riled in righteous anger," he teased, eyes sparkling. "She used logic to justify her points, defended her own house when challenged, and left me fumbling for words like a jarvey as she left."

Hermione felt flushed and self-conscious. "I was just talking…"

Cedric's gaze was considering.

"I don't think you quite realize, Hermione," he said. "You left quite an impression that night."

Hermione shrugged defensively.

"I was trying to be nice," she said, uneasy. "It wasn't supposed to be some big thing."

"Nevertheless…" His eyes met hers again, and she felt her breath catch. "I haven't been able to get you out of my head since."

His gaze was open, honest, but there was something in his eyes, something in the look of them, with the dilated pupils…

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped, breaking his gaze, flushing in embarrassment. "What's your game here?"

"Are all the Slytherins really so serpent-like that nothing can be offered without an ulterior motive?" Cedric said plainly. "I'm saying I _like_ you, Hermione. That's all."

"You—wait, you—"

"I sent you a rose," Cedric said patiently, "because I _like_ you. You're pretty, you're clever, and you're wicked sharp. I would like to get to know you better."

Hermione blinked.

"Oh," she said faintly.

Cedric started to grin.

"'Oh?'" he repeated, teasing. "Is that all you have to say? Just 'oh'?"

Hermione's words were failing her, and she could feel the heat of her cheeks as she blushed, self-conscious.

"It—It's not _quite_ like that in Slytherin, but it kind of is," she admitted, faltering. "Gifts are sent with hidden meanings and motives. Words and phrases are used carefully, threats laid in the subtext of the words. So it's… it's different. I've gotten gifts from boys before, but there's always been another layer there to unravel, another meaning to find."

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

"You live in a house full of pureblood traditionalists," he said. "And you're saying _I'm_ the first person to make such a gesture towards you?"

"Well, _no_ , but…"

All the others she'd gotten were something else, though, weren't they? Anthony's grand gestures of courting-but-not-courting gifts were just that – grand, flashy gestures, meant to communicate as much as they were meant to hide. As charming as Anthony could be when he tried, Hermione was very aware that he'd taken an interest immediately _after_ the New Blood rumor had spread and he'd noticed her success in classes. The Goldstein family had lost some of its prestige with some relative's scandal, and all the purebloods knew that if Anthony managed to court the only New Blood of the era, his family's image would significantly rise within society, and Hermione suspected Anthony was taking full advantage of this.

Draco had given her gifts that were not gestures, but ones that were not _not_ gestures. Hermione was fairly certain that Draco would want to court her when she came 'of an age' but she suspected that he couldn't openly declare his intentions, though, because of the situation with his father. The idea of Lucius Malfoy giving his son permission to pursue someone born to muggles, New Blood or not, was patently ludicrous. Draco's gifts each felt like he was trying to tell her something that he couldn't yet, as if he wanted her to wait for him until he'd talked his father 'round. But they were not true courting gifts, and each one he'd given her had been laden with hidden meaning.

"You're the first person to just come out and genuinely say to me that you like me," Hermione said at last. "And just flatly express romantic intent."

Cedric's eyes sparkled.

"I'm surprised," he said. "I thought I'd need to be the _best_ contender to date you, not just the _first_."

" _Date_ me?" Hermione's voice was strangled. "Cedric, I'm _thirteen._ "

"So?" There was a smile playing around his lips. "I'm fifteen. Two years of difference isn't bad."

Hermione just kind of gaped at him, and Cedric smirked.

"If you don't want to date me, Hermione, you can just tell me," he teased her. "You don't have to make up excuses about age."

"I—I don't—"

 _Did_ she want to date him?

She'd never even considered the thought.

She'd never really considered _dating_ , for that matter. Dating was something older people did, students in the upper classes or adults. She hadn't even realized that wizards _did_ just 'date' each other normally – part of her had been convinced everything was either a very formal courtship or nothing at all. Though, that may have been a result of learning everything from Slytherins...

Hermione gnawed her lip. Cedric was very attractive, that was sure. He was witty and charming, and he seemed to like muggle literature. He was kind, a good conversationalist, and Hermione was fairly certain that she _was_ attracted to him. But…

"You know," Cedric said conversationally, "when you bite your lip like that, it makes me want to kiss it better?"

Hermione blushed a vermillion red, and Cedric laughed.

"I'm—I'm flattered by your interest, truly," Hermione said, cheeks flaming. "But Cedric, I—"

"Yes?" Cedric was looking at her with gentle eyes, as if he was preparing himself for a letdown.

"Cedric, I'm—I'm not even 'of an age', yet," she said, looking away. Her face burned in embarrassment. "I don't think—I shouldn't—"

Cedric had a quick intake of breath, and Hermione winced.

"I—I didn't realize." He sounded embarrassed. "I knew you were thirteen, and you just seem so poised, I—"

He cut himself off, clearing his throat, and rubbed the back of his head, sheepish.

"I didn't realize that you'd want to—err—do the butterfly thing. But of course you would – you're in Slytherin, and where everything is done the traditional way." He gave her a small, embarrassed smile. "We'll just chalk this up to me being over-eager, yeah?"

Hermione blushed. "Alright."

Cedric relaxed slightly next to her, two spots of red blooming brightly high on his pale cheeks.

" _Are_ you going to do the butterfly thing, though?" he asked her. "Wear one around openly when you're able to date?"

"I suppose." Hermione made a face. "It's _traditional_ , and I can't exactly throw over pureblood traditions when I'm supposed to be learning them all and following them."

Cedric laughed.

"Glad guys don't have to do that," he told her, eyes dancing. "I'd look terrible with butterfly clips in my hair."

Hermione was startled into laughter, and Cedric grinned. He smiled as she settled down, and she smiled back at him.

"Still," he said thoughtfully. "Silly as it may be, I'm glad you will, though."

"You are?" Hermione was puzzled. "Why, though?"

Cedric withdrew his wand, twirled it in a small circle, and with a quiet, " _Orchideous_ ", a small bundle of roses blossomed out of the tip.

"Because, Hermione..."

He moved to tuck one of the pink-purple roses behind her ear, his eyes holding hers, his hand lingering on her cheek before pulling away. "It'll let me know when I should ask you again."


	144. A Brief Detour

**_STOMP STOMP STOMP_**

"Err—" Gregory Goyle ventured. "Hermione?"

Hermione glanced back at him with a huff. "Yes?"

 ** _STOMP STOMP STOMP_**

"We're going up the stairs."

"Why, yes Greg." Her voice was saccharinely sweet. "We are."

 ** _STOMP STOMP STOMP_**

"Umm. But… Hermione… the dungeons are down?"

Hermione stopped short.

"I _know_ , Greg," she said. "We're not _going_ to the dungeons."

Greg looked alarmed. "We're not?"

"No." Hermione seized his arm. "We are going up to Gryffindor tower."

"What?" Greg froze in alarm. "No, no. I don't want to go up there."

"Why not?" Hermione growled.

Greg shrank from her. "The—the Weasley Twins are up there. They're mean to Slytherins."

"You will have to _get over that_ ," Hermione snarled. "I need to see some people with _sense_ in their heads right now, not deal with stares and whispers and giggles."

"Umm." Greg hurried to keep up with her. "You could just take the flower out of your hair."

"I _can't_ ," Hermione groaned. "It's _stuck_."

Greg looked confused. "You could untangle it?"

" _No,_ Greg, it's stuck as in he stuck it in with a nonverbal sticking charm," Hermione sighed. "He has a mischievous streak. I suspect he wanted to rile some people up when I returned to Slytherin."

"But we're not going to Slytherin…"

Hermione bit her tongue. " _No_ , Greg, we're not. That's rather the _point._ "

A terse _Wattlebird_ at the portrait flung the Fat Lady open, and Hermione stormed in as if she owned the place. The common room fell silent at the sight of two Slytherins invading, Goyle shirking back though Hermione held her head high.

"I need the Weasley Twins," Hermione announced loudly, to the room at large. "Where are they?"

There was a murmur. The eldest Weasley, Percy, looked put out, while Ginny just looked surprised; Greg made a beeline for her, relieved to spot the only friendly person in Gryffindor he knew. Hermione scanned the crowd looking for people she could recognize, not finding her friends, before two identical red heads came striding forward, wearing matching grins.

"Miss Slytherin! You came to see us!"

"We'd thought you'd gone and _forgotten_ us, down in your dungeon—"

They grabbed Hermione, each taking an arm, and pulled her over to a sofa by the fire.

"Now," Fred said, grinning. "How can we help you?"

"We're ever so eager to offer our aid," George added, winking.

"Having a Slytherin in our debt, after all—"

"Can you _imagine_ the potential, Gred?"

"I really can't, Forge. It's just—"

"There is a flower stuck in my hair," Hermione said loudly, drawing their attention back to her. She gave them a dark look. "I need it unstuck, please."

They gave her a blank look.

"That's… easy enough for us," Fred said slowly. "We _are_ the master of pranks like that."

"How'd it get stuck?" George wanted to know.

"Sticking charm, I _thought_ , but it won't dissolve with a _finite_ like I thought," she said grumpily. "I need to go to _bed,_ and I just want it off of me."

Fred and George exchanged a look.

"Well," Fred said easily. "How badly do you want it off?"

Their eyes glittered with mischief, and Hermione sighed.

"Alright," she conceded. "What do you want in exchange?"

First, they wanted access to the Slytherin common room, which Hermione flatly denied. Then, they wanted her to leave an object in Snape's office, again which she flatly denied.

"I came to you, but I could easily just go to a prefect," she said, annoyed. "I'm asking you to remove _one_ spell. Ask for something of equivalent value, will you?"

She was bluffing; she wouldn't go to a prefect. A prefect would want to know who had done it so they could file a report, and then word of Cedric giving her a rose in public would wind its way back to Slytherin.

The twins sat back and considered for a long moment, tapping their fingers to their chins.

"This is hard, isn't it?" George mused aloud. "So much we could ask for…"

"So little you'd get," Hermione snapped.

"Ah, but so long as we're _fair_ …"

"Hermione?"

Hermione glanced up to see Neville looking down at her, looking cautiously concerned.

"Is everything… okay?" he ventured, glancing at the Weasley Twins.

Hermione sighed.

"I'm fine, Neville," she told him. "But thanks for checking."

"Little Miss Slytherin here just needs our help with an embarrassing teensy eensy weensy little problem," Fred said.

"And, of course, she thought to come to us as soon as she could," George said, nodding wisely. "We are the experts, after all."

Neville looked confused.

"Experts?" he repeated. "Experts at _what?_ "

"Experts at undoing the done," Fred said promptly. "At unsticking the stuck."

"In this case, the flower in her hair," George said, nodding to it. "But we're still wondering what to ask for in exchange."

Neville's eyes flicked to the rose behind her ear and widened, and Hermione suppressed a groan.

"Hermione? Did someone give you that rose?" Neville's voice was shocked. "Do you know who it was?"

This was _exactly_ the sort of circumstance Hermione had been hoping to avoid.

"Yes, Neville," Hermione said dully. "The Weasley Twins are helping me take it out."

Neville gave her a wide-eyed, astonished look.

"There are different meanings for flowers, in the wizarding world, you know," he ventured. "I have a book on it, if you—"

"I _know_ what it means, Neville," Hermione snapped. She paused. "…sorry. My patience's run a bit thin at the moment; the berk _stuck_ the rose in my hair, and I can't get it out."

Hermione saw comprehension dawn in his eyes.

"And you don't want to go back to Slytherin with that in your hair," Neville said. A small smile teased his lips. "Fun bit of mischief by a non-Slytherin, then, right? Your house wouldn't let you ignore it and live it down."

"They wouldn't," Hermione said, gritting her teeth. "Which is why I'd very much appreciate it if you _never mentioned this to anyone_ , Neville."

Neville laughed.

"Your secret's safe with me, Hermione," he told her, amused. "Good luck getting it out!"

Hermione watched him leave to go upstairs, presumably to his dorm room. When she refocused on the Weasley Twins, they had matching devious looks on their faces, and she flinched.

"Oh, no," she groaned. "What have you thought of?"

Fred and George exchanged a heavy glance.

"Your parents, Miss Slytherin," Fred began. "They are muggles, aren't they?"

"They are." Hermione held her chin up. "What of it?"

"And you must write your parents frequently, right?" George said. "At least weekly?"

"Yes…" Hermione said slowly. "Where are you going with this?"

"So if you were to ask your parents, for, say a muggle potion," Fred said casually, "it wouldn't take you at all long to get it back from them in the mail?"

Hermione gave them a puzzled look.

"A muggle potion?" she said. "Fred, muggles don't _have_ potions…"

"The kind they make with science," Fred said, waving her concerns away. "Not the magical kind."

"We have heard of a particular potion," George said, whispering for dramatic effect, "that the muggles have concocted that has _great_ prank potential. We want some of it, so we can learn to duplicate the effect with magic."

Hermione found herself interested despite herself.

"There is?" she asked, curious. "What is it?"

Fred and George moved closer, their eyes alight.

"It is called," Fred said, reverently, "Ex-Lax."

Hermione stared at him, then started to laugh.

"You want me to send my parents to the chemist for a laxative?" she said, laughing. She settled down, still amused. "Alright, I can do that. The normal kind, or the chocolate kind?"

This choice seemed too much for the Weasley Twins, who were thrown off their game.

"There's a _chocolate_ kind?" George said, awed.

Hermione laughed.

"Let's do this," she suggested. "You get the flower out of my hair for me, and I mail my parents for your muggle potion tomorrow. You promise not to use it on me or any of my house mates, and I promise not to tell anyone where you got it. Deal?"

"Deal," George said, grinning. He aimed his wand at her ear. " _Epoximise."_

"Lovely doing business with you," Fred said, plucking the flower from her hair easily and tossing it into the fire. "I trust we'll be seeing you again soon."


	145. Ginny in the Library

Classes gradually fell into a routine, and the grumbling of the students slowly lessened as they all adjusted to the security changes in the school, but resentment still smoldered in the halls.

As Hermione had predicted, there was a run of pranks done to irritate the teachers and prefects, probably to blow off steam. Someone snuck a niffler into the Great Hall, and it had stolen all the professors' goblets before anyone realized it was there. Someone let pixies out into the dungeons, making Snape curse Lockhart's name as he stormed around, zapping them all to bits. Hermione had even heard tales of some of the professors having to abruptly bolt from their lessons to the restroom mid-class, which just so _happened_ to coincide with instances of the Weasley Twins' having particularly wide grins.

The students were all frustrated and annoyed, and Hermione couldn't really blame them; the security restrictions were getting to her too. She was glad that large groups of students generally went to the library after classes and after dinner each night, and Hermione found herself frequently going along with them, taking refuge in the stacks of books. Slytherin common room was still full of complaining about the security changes, mostly by the older years, and Hermione was sick to death of hearing them moan.

Studying in the library was easy and enjoyable, and it was _quiet._ Harry, Neville, and Ron joined her occasionally, while her Ravenclaw study mates joined her more frequently — Terry, Anthony, Mandy, and occasionally Michael Corner. But Hermione was content to study by herself in the back of the library, hidden by the shelves as she lost herself in a book or writing an essay.

It was when writing an essay on the use of Floo powder during witch burnings (which was unusually _fascinating_ for Binns to cover – could you imagine a witch being burned at the stake when the entire bonfire went green?) that a shadow fell over her, and Hermione looked up to see a small, ginger girl, looking very nervous.

"…Ginny?"

The small red head nodded rapidly, eyes fixed on Hermione, and Hermione looked at her curiously.

"Here," she said, moving her stack of books over on the table to clear a space. "Do you need help with your homework?"

Ginny plopped down in the empty seat at the small table, her brown eyes still fixed on her.

"Ron says you're the nicest evil person he's ever met," she said abruptly, and Hermione groaned.

"I remember him saying that," Hermione said, rubbing her temples. "Why do you bring it up?" She gave Ginny a look. "Do _you_ think I'm evil?"

Ginny looked hesitant.

"I don't know," she admitted. "You _are_ in Slytherin, but an evil person wouldn't give us all Lockhart's books, I don't think. And I don't think an evil person would rescue Harry like that from his relatives. And you help Fred and George sometimes — you were chatting with them in the common room just the other night."

Hermione felt a knot in her chest loosen.

"And you got revenge for Luna," Ginny continued. She grinned at Hermione, tentative. "That was brilliant, what you did. I don't think it was _evil_ , but it definitely wasn't _nice_."

"I never _claimed_ to be nice," Hermione said mildy, folding her arms. "What of it, Ginny?"

Ginny paused.

" _Are_ you evil?" she asked plainly, and Hermione gave her a dark look.

" _No_ , I'm not evil." Her voice was annoyed. "Why do you ask?"

Ginny ignored her counter-question.

"Do you do Dark magic, though?" she pushed, and Hermione hesitated. Ginny caught Hermione's pause, her eyes flashing in triumph.

"You _do_ know Dark magic," she said in satisfaction. "Do you—"

"Will you keep your voice down?" Hermione hissed, grabbing her wrist. Ginny's eyes went wide, and Hermione looked around carefully to make sure no one was around before turning back to her.

"I do _not_ do Dark magic," Hermione told Ginny, keeping her voice low. "However, I do sometimes do what is called _Grey_ magic, which is often misunderstood and assumed to be Dark."

"Grey?" Ginny asked, keeping her voice quiet. "What's that?"

"Things like… things like blood magic, for example," Hermione said. "If you use blood that's willingly given in a spell or ritual, it's Grey magic. But so many Dark spells use blood that's forcibly taken, so people assume anything with blood in it is Dark."

Ginny's eyes were wide.

"So… you don't do Dark magic yourself, but you know a lot about Dark magic anyway?" she summarized, and Hermione winced.

"You have to know what's Dark and what's not to make sure you don't fall on the wrong side of the line," Hermione argued, defensive. "Like… you wouldn't play Quidditch before you learned the rules."

Ginny considered this for a moment, tilting her head.

"So you're not evil, but you know about evil things," she said, and Hermione suppressed a groan.

"You're conflating _Dark_ with _evil_ ," she said. "I'm not sure the two are entirely synonymous—"

Ginny was ignoring her, rummaging in her bag. A moment later she dropped a thin book on the table, where it fell with a faint _smack_.

Hermione glanced at the book – a planner, of some sort? – and looked back to Ginny.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A diary." Ginny bit her lip. "I think it's evil."

"An evil _diary?_ "

It was a black, leather-bound notebook with some aged gold detailing on the corners. It looked very plain and unremarkable. Hermione withdrew her wand, casting a few detection spells on the book. Nothing reacted, and carefully, Hermione reached out and touched it.

Nothing happened, so she drew it towards her, flipping through the pages.

"There's nothing written in this," Hermione said, giving Ginny a quizzical look. "I was expecting a personal grimoire or something."

"That's not it," Ginny said insistently. "If you write in the diary, _someone writes back_."

"What, like an instant letter?" Hermione was intrigued at the thought. "Who has the matching one?"

"You're not _listening_ to me," Ginny said, frustrated. "The _diary_ writes back. There's a _person_ in the diary, and he writes back."

Hermione blinked.

"And… this person is evil?"

Ginny hesitated.

"I… I _think_ so," she admitted. "I… I'm not sure, and I don't know how, but… well…" She gnawed on her lip, before looking at Hermione, determined.

"Ron said to come to you if I ever needed help with something evil," she said decisively. "So I'm coming to you. I think this diary is evil, and I don't want it anymore."

Hermione sighed, closing the diary. She readied herself to respond to Ginny's nonsense only to have her eyes snag on the name marked in gold on the back.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle_

Hermione's eyes went wide.

She _knew_ that name.

"You know, Ginny, I think this diary might be very evil," Hermione said, nodding decisively. "You were right to bring this to me – I'll figure it out and take care of everything."

Ginny looked relieved, but she fairly vibrated with anxiety.

"Don't tell anyone where you got it?" Ginny pleaded. "I'm not even sure where I got it – I found it with my school things. But I don't want anyone to know I wrote in something evil."

"Of course not," Hermione assured her. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Thanks." Ginny sighed in obvious relief, relaxing back against the chair while Hermione, her heart thrumming with adrenaline, carefully tucked the diary into her bag.


	146. Careful Precautions

Tom Marvolo Riddle, as Hermione had determined, was Voldemort's real name. The fact that a diary from 1942 had shown up, a diary that just _happened_ to belong to the Heir of Slytherin, that just _happened_ to have been found by a Gryffindor girl who had light-colored hair and hadn't had her growth spurt yet, that said girl had decried as _evil_ , was definitively, decisively, and incredibly suspicious.

Hermione was excited beyond all belief.

She was _certain_ she had just found a huge key into the entire Heir of Slytherin and Chamber of Secrets debacle. She had to force herself to stay calm, making sure to confirm the facts she knew before playing around with what was certain to be an incredibly dangerous object.

First, she went to back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, sneaking away alone during lunch to do so.

"Yes, I've seen her before," Moaning Myrtle confirmed. "She's been around a few times. She was here very late, the night right before the winter break." She frowned. "She never even _talks_ to me when she's here, though – acts as if I don't even _exist—"_

"What does she do, when she's here?" Hermione asked, tucking away the photo of Ginny Weasley she'd brought. "Does she use the toilet?"

"Hardly," Moaning Myrtle sniffed. "She just kind of _hisses_ at the sink and makes it go down."

Hermione paused.

"'Makes it go down'?" she questioned carefully, and Moaning Myrtle scowled.

"Well, _I_ don't know what else to call it," she snapped. "She hisses at the sink, and the sink sinks down into the floor, exposing a big pipe. Sometimes she goes down in the pipe; sometimes she just hisses down it and leaves."

"Which sink?" Hermione asked, moving further into the bathroom. "Is it a particular one?"

"That one," Myrtle said, gesturing. "It's never worked."

Hermione examined the sink, dirty as it was. It seemed just like all the others, though the taps didn't work, as Myrtle had said, and as she tested the taps, she felt something on the side of one.

There, etched into the side of the copper, was a tiny drawing of a snake.

Hermione felt her heart jolt.

"And you say she goes _down_ into the pipe?" Hermione clarified, and Myrtle sniffed.

" _She_ does. _I_ certainly don't," she said. "It's already dirty enough in _here_ , what with no one caring enough about me to ever _clean_ the bathroom. I'm certainly not about to go into a _sewer_."

Hermione tilted her head, evaluating Myrtle carefully.

"Have you told anyone else about this?" she asked. "The Headmaster, any professors? Anyone about noticing a small girl hissing at a sink and opening up a secret passageway?"

Myrtle's face turned nasty.

"I have _not_ ," she said. "No one's ever cared enough to _ask_. I told you – _no one_ cares about me!"

With a wail, Myrtle leapt from her seat in the air and plunged into one of the toilets. Hermione wasn't quick enough to dodge; she left the bathroom with satisfaction at having solved a puzzle, but with fairly sodden robes.

(She did pause in the kitchens, though, kindly asking if a couple House Elves would terribly mind cleaning Moaning Myrtle's restroom if they had the time, even though it was always marked _Out of Order_.)

The second thing to do was research. All Hermione knew so far was that the diary was evil, and that if you wrote in it, _someone wrote back_.

Hermione was fairly certain she knew who that someone might be.

Hermione did her best in the library that she could, to no avail. She couldn't find anything useful that could explain such a phenomenon, though she did find a spell to link parchments to other things, which she tucked away in her mind. Linking two parchments together to 'pass notes' in class would be exponentially easier than _actually_ trying to get away with passing notes.

With not many options left, Hermione turned to the books in her trunk, the trunk she was "keeping safe" for another, carefully going over the titles, staying away from those that were belted shut. There were lots of books on Dark magic, with several on Dark rituals and Dark spells, and quite a few on spell creation. Not wanting to actually have to _read_ through books on Dark magic, Hermione used the indexing spell that was on the books in the Hogwarts library. To her dismay, none of the books responded to the search terms "diary", "person trapped in a diary", or "evil book that writes back".

There was nothing else for it.

The third thing to do was test the diary.

Hermione wasn't sure what she was getting herself into, but she was faintly terrified about it, so she was very careful and methodical about the entire thing.

"What do you _mean_ , you're going to test something evil?" Blaise wanted to know.

Hermione held up her hands. "Look, it's hard to explain. All I need is for you to make sure I check in with you in two hours, and make sure I answer a verification question correctly."

"A verification question?" Blaise frowned. "Like a password?"

"Like something only you and I would know," Hermione clarified. "Passwords can be overheard and stolen. Like… where did you take me in Diagon Alley over the summer?"

Blaise grinned. "The Hopping Pot. You met my mother that day."

"Exactly." Hermione nodded.

Blaise looked thoughtful. "I can come up with something like that."

"If I don't come and check in with you in two hours, or you see me in the common room and I don't answer the verification question correctly, I need you to run and get Professor Snape," Hermione told him seriously. "Do you understand?"

"Are you summoning muggle demons?" Blaise looked excited. "That's not fair, to do that without the rest of us."

"I am _not_ summoning demons," Hermione snapped. "Look, can't you just do this thing for me? It'll really help out."

Blaise smirked at her, though concern flickered in his eyes.

"Alright, Hermione," he told her. He hesitated. "Be careful."

"I will," she promised.

Once in her dormitory, Hermione carefully isolated herself, charming her bed curtains shut for security. She put everything else away, save her wand, a quill, an inkpot, and the diary.

She inked the quill carefully, looking at the diary lying open in front of her innocuously, and took a deep breath.

"Okay, you can do this," Hermione told herself. "It's just a diary…"

Fighting to keep her hand from shaking, she wrote: _Hello._ _My name is Hermione._

Her eyes went wide as the ink sank into the page, before the ink oozed back out, new words forming.

 _Hello Hermione. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_

Hermione bit her lip hard, mind rapidly considering her options.

 _I got it off a girl named Ginny,_ she settled for. _She didn't want it anymore._

The ink oozed out again, neat handwriting forming.

 _Might you be Hermione Granger?_ the handwriting asked, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine, prickling.

She hadn't wanted to tell the diary her full name. But somehow, he'd already known.

 _I am._ Hermione wrote back. _You've heard of me before?_

The diary's text now had a slight twist to it, as if amused.

 _How could I not? You're the only New Blood of an epoch, apparently, and the only person with muggle parents to be sorted into Slytherin in a century. Ginny was fascinated and terrified by you._

Hermione swallowed hard. She wasn't sure if he was teasing or threatening her.

 _Glad to know I made an impression_ , she wrote back, playing it off.

 _Oh, to be sure, Hermione,_ the diary responded. _You definitely make an impression._

The response dissolved, the ink reforming, another message coming through, one that made Hermione's blood run cold.

 _Of anyone else who might have come by my diary, I'm rather glad it was you._


	147. Talking with Tom

The difficulty with handling Tom Riddle's diary, Hermione determined, was she had to play ignorant when writing in it, but still somehow try and be herself so as to sound authentic. She wrote in it a bit every day, as one would a _normal_ diary, trying to see what she could get.

Tom Riddle had somehow controlled Ginny through this book, Hermione determined. Tom Riddle had been opening the Chamber of Secrets through Ginny. The snakes had said Ginny seemed unaware of herself when they had seen her, which Myrtle had confirmed, making Hermione suspect that the diary could somehow possess people.

Tom Riddle wanted the Chamber of Secrets open and the monster attacking people.

Hermione wanted the Chamber of Secrets closed and the monster dead.

With their aims at odds, Hermione had to hide her motives, trying to draw information out of Tom as best she could while still seeming innocuous. She had to speak somewhat freely to seem like an average teenage girl, talking about her classes or being upset at the older years' bullying, but remain secretly alert and vigilant. She had gained some skill in such mind games from her time in Slytherin, but there was something decidedly nerve-wracking when doing it with an evil diary made by Lord Voldemort.

Hermione felt like she wasn't just playing for stakes; she was playing with her life.

Tom Riddle, however, remained perfectly polite. He asked questions about her life and classes, and he seemed genuinely interested in her responses. His original queries had been more like small talk and had been rather perfunctory, but when Hermione had mentioned her coven, Tom had grown fascinated, asking question after question about how she'd learned to construct rituals, what rituals she'd done, and what her further plans were.

He'd shocked her by confessing that he'd tried to form a coven of his own in his later years at Hogwarts. Apparently, he'd run into the difficulty of getting his closest friends to join; covens had a distinctly _womanly_ association back then, and none of his friends wanted to do something so _effeminate_. He'd had to just make a generic secret society instead, but it didn't come _close_ to the power that a coven could harness, to his constant frustration.

Tom ranted about it a good bit, going on about the wasted potential and power just because of a fear of challenging traditional gender roles, which had Hermione laughing out loud. Of all the things she would think a young Voldemort would rail against, the challenges of traditional _gender roles_ would have _never_ made the list.

She agreed with him, of course, though – to resist such an opportunity because of meaningless societal expectations was a huge loss. And if it really mattered, couldn't his friends have just kept it a secret?

Tom agreed, again expressing his envy of her own secret coven. He pushed her to tell him about everything she did with them, and Hermione amusedly found herself agreeing.

It was odd, to realize that one got along with the teenage form of Lord Voldemort.

Hermione was smart enough to know that Tom Riddle was trying to form a friendship with her, to get her to trust him. But to seem innocent and unaware that the diary was evil, she had to respond as if she _didn't_ know he was trying to manipulate her into feeling a connection with him. And despite her foreknowledge, Hermione found herself somewhat _glad_ to have the diary – besides the fact that if _she_ had the diary, no one else could be possessed and make the monster attack, Tom was actually good to bounce ideas off of (she might as well take advantage of his intelligence, if she had to talk to him anyway), and his sarcastic and cutting comments when she ranted about the constant sneers and judgement from the older years in Slytherin comforted her and bolstered her mood. He was surprisingly empathetic on the topic.

 _I was judged the same_ , he'd told her. _My parentage was unknown, and I came to Slytherin from a muggle orphanage. The cruel remarks were constant, and I had to fight to belong amongst them. Even after I found my wizarding parentage and family line, there were still doubters, and they never stopped with their comments._

 _I hate it_ , Hermione had written back. _Slytherin House is supposed to be about ambition and cleverness, isn't it? What does it matter who someone's parents are? We're more than that. Why can't they see us for our resourcefulness and our power, and judge us on our_ _ **own**_ _merits, not those of our family line?_

 _Slytherin has fallen far from what it once was, I fear,_ Tom had responded. _I think Salazar Slytherin would be disappointed to see the state of his house today._

Hermione wasn't sure if that was a genuine expression of emotion from Tom, or if he was making a subtle jibe about her (and her parentage) being in Slytherin and trying to sneak it in under her nose.

But she continued writing in the diary nonetheless.

* * *

With Tom Riddle not giving up any useful information on the monster or Chamber of Secrets, and Hermione not willing to go and explore the Chamber of Secrets alone, Hermione grew more and more frustrated.

Though there had been no more attacks, students were still required to walk around in pairs and couldn't travel alone. The lack of freedom grated on everyone, but with Hermione's friendships within other houses, it bothered her a little more; Hermione wasn't able to visit Ravenclaw on a whim, or go find Harry and Neville, or even arrange to meet her coven at a specific place and time, as half of them would have to come alone from different houses, which wasn't currently allowed.

The teachers seemed to think the best way to handle everyone being worried about the monster was to occupy them with as much schoolwork as possible. Hermione was accustomed to essays and homework, but there was a _significant_ increase in the number of essays and length of essays assigned, to the point she was openly suspicious.

"Do you think all the teachers discussed this and planned it?" she asked one evening, working on a Transfiguration essay with Tracey, Millie, and Blaise. "Overload us with dumb essays and assignments so everyone's too busy to worry about the attacks?"

"What, collectively planned on giving us more homework?" Tracey asked. "I mean, they all say it's to help us prepare for exams…"

"Bully for exams," Hermione snapped. "For Transfiguration, I am going to need to transfigure a flowerpot into a lamp. I'm _not_ going to need to know the tradition of turning decorations into lighting throughout history."

"It's not like we can do anything about it, even if it _is_ just busy work," Blaise pointed out. "We can't just _not_ do it, you know?"

Blaise had a point, but Hermione didn't like it.

Over time, her frustration mounted. Classes began to blur together. Homework was done to the bare minimum, no extra information included. Lessons felt pointless; she did the required magic and tuned the rest out. Anxiety and anger were never far from her mind, and Hermione felt more and more pent-up over the fact that the safety of students at the school had become an issue at all. What kind of _Headmaster_ let an ancient horror that _he knew about for fifty years_ just lurk about in a castle with _children?_

It was like Hermione couldn't stop thinking about it. None of the serpents she had researched could petrify people, so _what_ was the monster that was after her classmates? Tom Riddle hadn't taken the bait yet and told her _anything_ of consequence, despite her mentioning the attacks from time to time. Everything else seemed to pale in comparison next to the threat of a _literal monster_ terrorizing the school.

Her thoughts continued to spiral, and her anxiety grew and grew.

Her friends tried to pull her out of her funk, with little success. Blaise's flirting fell flat. Millie's sarcasm didn't seem to reach her ears. Tracey even dragged Hermione to a Quidditch match that Hermione barely paid attention to; it was as if she couldn't sit still the entire time. The monster was still _out there_ , still hiding in the pipes and the halls, and even if no one was controlling it _now_ , who's to say it wouldn't get hungry and decide to act on its own?

Hermione was returning to the castle after the Quidditch game (Ravenclaw had won against Hufflepuff, she thought? Was that even who had played?) when Susan Bones came up to her, wearing her bright turquoise glasses and smiling.

"Hermione!" she said. "It's great to see you!"

Hermione managed a half-smile.

"Good to see you outside of classes, Susan," she said. "How are the glasses working out?"

Susan grinned.

"They're amazing," she told her. "I didn't realize how much of a headache I was dealing with every day until suddenly the pain was _gone_. And reading is so much easier, now – my marks in classes have gone up a lot!"

Despite her sour mood, Hermione smiled.

"That's wonderful," she told her honestly. "I'm so glad it worked!"

Susan skipped alongside her, cheerful.

"I really am in your debt, you know," she said. "I know you don't really know much about it, but I take my bonds very seriously."

"Cedric mentioned it," Hermione said. "Your family is very traditional, he said?"

Susan's eyes darkened.

"Well, what's left of it, at least," she muttered. "All I've got left is my aunt."

Hermione felt awkwardness descend.

"I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't know – I didn't mean to bring it up—"

Susan sighed.

"No, it's fine," she said. "You couldn't have known. But You-Know-Who killed my parents, my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and all my cousins. My aunt and I are the only Bones he missed. I live with her, now."

Her lips were twisted into a tortured sort of frown, and Hermione felt horrible.

"I don't even really remember them," Susan admitted. "I was so young. The Death Eaters burned the house down, when they were done. This is all I even have left of my mother's."

She pulled a ring from her robes, hanging on a chain around her neck, and gave Hermione a faint smile.

"It's too big to fit me," Susan said wryly. "But at least I have something of hers to keep and remember her by."

But Hermione was staring at the ring on the necklace, swaying slightly in the air.

"Susan," she said slowly. "That was your mother's?"

Susan blinked.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure of it."

Hermione took Susan's elbow and tugged her aside, out of the flow of traffic.

"Can I see it?" she asked, and without waiting for permission, she stepped closer and took the ring to look at more closely, pulling the chain taut around Susan's neck.

"Hey!"

The ring was thick and silver, with Celtic knotwork on the sides. The top of the ring had a flat round face, filled with black enamel.

There was a silver pentacle emblazoned on the face.

Hermione's eyes flew to Susan's, whose eyes had gone wide.

"Very traditional family, you say," Hermione murmured. She held up the ring. "Do you know what this is?"

Susan's eyes blazed in defiance. "So what if I do?"

Hermione let the ring drop, and it fell to hang down Susan's front.

"The Bones are very traditional," Hermione said quietly. Her eyes held Susan's. "Do you intend to follow in your mother's footsteps? To follow _her_ traditions?"

The defiance in Susan's eyes immediately turned into intrigue.

"And if I do?" she said, very casually, trying to keep her interest out of her tone.

Hermione smiled, her eyes glinting.

"I might be able to help with that."


	148. Sharing Opinions

Blaise was of the opinion that Susan Bones was a risky person to include in the coven.

"Her Aunt works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Blaise told her. " _And_ she holds a seat on the Wizengamot, and she has a lot of sway there. We barely know _anything_ about Susan; what's to say she won't go tattling to her Aunt about everything we do?"

"Hufflepuffs are supposed to be loyal," Hermione argued. "If we formally inducted her, she'd be loyal to _us_."

"Over her loyalty to her _family?_ " Blaise scoffed. "Over her loyalty to the _law?_ "

"But what if it was?" Hermione pushed. "If we could win her loyalty so she stood with _us_ first, would you be as worried?"

Blaise groused a bit, considering.

"If we knew we could fully trust her, she'd be a smart person to pick," he conceded. "She could use her aunt's leverage _for_ us, instead of against us. And it'd give us a person in every house at Hogwarts, so we'd always know what's going on."

Blaise agreed to go around and get the opinions of the others with her, seeing as she still wasn't _allowed_ to walk around on her own (to Hermione's constant frustration).

Though once they got to Gryffindor tower, Harry didn't have much of an opinion.

"Susan's nice, and she's helpful in Herbology," he said. "She's a lot more outgoing now that she got her glasses. I think she was more shy before – maybe because she couldn't see?"

Hermione didn't bother to correct him on the purpose of Susan's glasses, but thanked him for his opinion nonetheless.

"Susan's aura is swirly and strong," Luna said, when Hermione sought her out. "She is very straightforward, and she is fully committed her sense of morals and her code of what to follow."

"What code is that?" Hermione asked.

Luna shrugged. "The code of magic? Maybe her family's own magic and traditionalism. You would have to ask her for more."

Hermione grumbled, thanked Luna, and left the tower, taking Blaise with her.

"Your own aura's attracting Nargles like mad," Luna called after her. "You need to repair the splotches in it while you still can."

Hermione hadn't the slightest idea _what_ that meant, and she couldn't be bothered to care.

"We have until the end of the year to find another person for the coven, right?" Blaise said, as they left Ravenclaw to walk back down to the dungeons. "Or at least until Luna 'grows up' or whatever. What's the hurry now?"

"I want to have everyone set _now_ ," Hermione said. "I don't like leaving projects open, unfinished. It makes me anxious. I want to figure it out and have everything ready to go once everyone's ready."

"If Susan did join, would we do the snake ritual again?" Blaise asked curiously. "It hasn't helped much in figuring out the monster or the Heir, but it'd be kind of mean to leave the last person in the coven out, you know?"

"Probably," Hermione said, shrugging. "We'd have to try and see if another snake is willing to go for it. Or pick another animal, and we all then speak _that._ "

This led to them wondering what other animal would be good to pick, debating if Susan would want to be able to talk to badgers.

* * *

As was fast becoming habit, Hermione opted to consult Tom to see what he thought of the idea.

She was still trying to get him to open up to her about what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was, the last piece of the puzzle she needed. So far, she'd had little luck, but the more she asked Tom for advice, appearing to 'consult' him, the more he gradually opened in up turn. Hermione still held out hope that she'd be able to figure the entire thing out herself, presenting the answer to all the school's woes to Snape like an answer to Cluedo: _It was the **Evil Diary** in the **Chamber of Secrets in the Girls Bathroom** with the [Evil serpent?]. _

It was a fun fantasy, to imagine solving it and saving the school, the resulting shock on Dumbledore's face and Snape's respectful look, the ensuing admiration of her classmates...

She just needed this one piece left: what the monster _was_.

 _Hopefully,_ with Hermione regularly asking Tom for advice, he'd open up to her about it soon.

That was the _plan,_ anyway.

Tom approved of Susan as the fifth member of her coven, but only if Hermione could secure her loyalty.

 _She would be an asset to your group, especially if she grew up watching her own mother cast with a coven. She respects old magic, you would have her loyalty through her debt bond, and she ranks high in your class amongst your peers._

 _I'm just worried because I don't really know her,_ Hermione wrote. _It's weird. How do you become friends with someone on purpose?_

 _Start talking to her more regularly,_ Tom suggested. _Let commonalities build a connection between you, and if she's a good fit, the friendship will come._

That was unusually good advice, given it came from a megalomaniacal sociopath.

 _That's hard to do when I'm not allowed to go and meet with anyone anywhere,_ Hermione complained to Tom. _This stupid Heir of Slytherin business and monster attacking people is ruining everything._

And finally, _finally,_ Tom took the bait.

 _The Chamber of Secrets was opened my year of school, too,_ he wrote. Hermione watched the next words ooze out, anxiously bouncing her leg. _I can show you, if you like_.

Hermione paused.

 _What do you mean?_ she finally asked.

 _I can show you. I can take you back to the memory of the day the perpetrator was caught; it's preserved in the diary._

Hermione didn't trust _that_ for a second, and she was not impulsive or stupid enough to consent to an _evil book_ doing _anything_ with her memory or her mind.

 _That's not necessary,_ she finally wrote. _I'm aware of whom the incidents were pinned on last time; I'm aware you caught him as well. But it's not him this time, and I severely doubt it was him the last; he was merely a convenient scapegoat to use to allow the panic to subside._

There was a long pause after her words sank in, before new words oozed out.

 _You continue to impress me, Hermione,_ Tom responded, and she snorted, watching as more words came out. _What makes you so sure it wasn't him?_

"I'm not an idiot," Hermione snapped at the diary, giving it a dark look. With a grumbling sigh, she resumed writing.

 _Acromantula venom doesn't work that way, and Hagrid has absolutely no motive to attack anyone. Whomever opened the Chamber of Secrets originally had a very specific plan they followed, and a similar plan is being followed now._

 _And what plan is that?_ Tom inquired.

 _Only Muggleborns were attacked last time, and nearly everyone this time has been a Muggleborn as well._ Ink splattered on her hand as she wrote, trying to hold back her annoyance. _I understand why, in theory – the Heir thought they were fulfilling Slytherin's legacy by getting rid of the Muggleborns – but I think the Heir didn't fully think through the implications of their actions or what Slytherin's concerns with Muggleborns actually were._

There was a pause, and Hermione smirked.

"Go ahead," she told the diary, snorting. "Tell me you're the Heir of Slytherin and I couldn't possibly know more than you."

 _What do you think Slytherin's true concerns were?_ Tom responded, and Hermione noted he was avoiding the part where she'd insulted the Heir.

With a smirk, she replied.

 _When Slytherin taught at the school, there was no Statute of Secrecy,_ she responded. _Slytherin's concern regarding Muggleborns was most likely their connection to their families. I suspect that when Muggleborns would go home for the summer, some of their families would stone them or burn them, decrying them as witches._

Hermione kept writing, not giving Tom a chance to respond.

 _Slytherin never said_ _ **anything**_ _in any of his writings about Muggleborns having less magic, or of them being 'lesser'. He wrote about the danger they presented, and how including them risked the others. It wasn't an issue over their magic, which is as valid and true as anyone else's – it was the concern their parents would form a mob, storm the school, and try to slaughter them all._

She sat back, waiting. It took a while for Tom's response to come through.

 _I've never thought of it that way,_ he admitted. _You make a good point. You've researched this?_

 _I read all I could on Slytherin when the Chamber was first opened, trying to figure out who could be the Heir,_ Hermione told him. _No one's ever considered Slytherin's behavior from a safety point of view. It's blood purists who look at it to find an excuse for their prejudice. They see what they **want** to see. _

_Blood purists are quick to judge and condemn,_ Tom commented. _I had enough run-ins with them in my early school years to know._

 _They like to feel superior,_ Hermione wrote back.

Tom seemed amused. _But who doesn't?_

 _Everyone might like the feeling of being special, of being_ _ **better**_ _, but you have to_ _ **earn**_ _it for it to mean anything,_ Hermione argued. _If you work at your magic and rank above everyone else in the class, then you_ _ **are**_ _better at magic, and you have the facts to back it up. Claiming superiority on some arbitrary facet of one's conception and lineage is foolish and delusional.  
_

 _You are very interesting, Hermione Granger,_ Tom wrote back. _I find I agree with rather more of your points than I thought._

Hermione scoffed.

"Yeah, I bet you do," she told the diary. "I bet that a school girl is going to completely change Voldemort's mind on genocide."

Hermione was at least amused that Tom couldn't actually reply with his _real_ feelings – he clearly knew she'd run and not trust the diary anymore if he told her he supported the blood purist agenda and advocated genocide of Muggleborns.

If she had to fake it when writing in the diary, at least he did too.


	149. Spinning in Circles

Hermione continued to dwell on whether or not Susan would be a good fit for her coven as time went on, the school still on edge. It was difficult to stay focused, though, Hermione's own anxiety over not knowing the monster forming a tight ball in her chest that never seemed to dissolve. The lack of attacks continued, but the feeling in Slytherin seemed to be one of simultaneous annoyance and dread – and apparently, Alexia Rosier and Peter Winikus were still worried that they would be next.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione snapped, when Tracey told her the rumor at lunch one Sunday. "We made a bet, and I already won. They didn't _all_ need to be Petrified, just one of them. They're in no more danger from the Heir than anyone else now. They're idiots if they can't see that, and they need to just get over themselves. They're supposed to treat me with respect and deference, not flee whenever I enter the room."

"Slow down, Hermione," Blaise said, holding his hands up. "No need to rant. We're on your side here."

"Well, I'm just _frustrated_ ," Hermione said, shoving another spoonful of pudding into her mouth.

"Is that your second helping?" Tracey asked, glancing at the bowl. "Are you okay? You've been eating a lot…"

"I'm _hungry_ ," Hermione informed her. "If I'm hungry, I'm going to eat more. Maybe it's all the extra homework _taking over my entire life_ that's draining all my energy."

Neither Tracey nor Blaise touched the homework topic, all knowing how Hermione felt about _that_ , and Millie neatly turned the topic of conversation toward the Weasley Twins' latest prank on Lockhart, which had been to make his hair flash different colors at different times.

Tom Riddle, at least, seemed to understand her frustration.

 _The teachers occupy you with busy work so you don't have the time to think and learn on your own_ , he wrote to her. _If you have the freedom to learn outside of the lines they draw for you, they can't control you and keep you in your neat little box._

Hermione had never felt so understood.

Her bad mood continued into the next week. Hermione felt constantly on edge, anxious and angry at the same time. Her friends all noticed her distinct irritability and mood swings, and many of them wisely backed away and left her alone. A thoughtless comment from Ron about her being on the rag saw him hexed with ass's ears before Hermione even realized she'd fired the spell, and she apologized repeatedly as she helped undo the hex, Harry and Neville laughing uproariously.

"I don't know what came over me," she said, frantic. "I just— I was so mad, and my wand was in my hand—I didn't mean—"

"It's fine, Hermione," Neville said, laughing. "Ron deserved it, and you're fixing it. Maybe he'll think twice before saying such a thing to a girl next time."

Blaise, in an act of friendship or masochistic self-endangerment, sat down to talk to Hermione one night, gently asking her what was going on.

"Last year you were making plans, threatening Travers in the common room with cool confidence," Blaise said, concern in his voice. "And I had half a mind you were going to go out kill the monster _yourself_. And now you're..." he trailed off. "Well, you're not acting like yourself, Hermione. What's going on?"

Hermione couldn't meet his gaze, looking down at the ground instead.

"I just—I can't figure it out, and it's driving me mad," she said. "People are _still_ making snide remarks about me being attacked next. And so many people keep saying it—"

"Hermione, love," Blaise said, taking her hands and looking into her eyes. "The monster is _not_ going to come after you. You explained why not to me yourself, remember?"

"I _know_ ," Hermione said. "But just—my thoughts are racing all the time, and I can't sleep right—"

"What is bothering you the most?" Blaise asked, his voice gentle, calming. "Let's solve this one problem at a time."

"I still don't know what the monster _is_ or how it works," Hermione said, frustrated. "I don't understand how a giant serpent could Petrify people. Nothing I've found has indicated any serpent has any power of the sort."

"So we need to learn what type of snake the monster is," Blaise said, summarizing. "What would be the best way to do that?"

"I don't know—ask the cats of the castle? No, I don't want to see a _cat_ die—I don't _know_ , Blaise, that's the problem!"

" _Hermione_. Take a deep breath." His voice cracked like a whip, and Hermione was startled out of her frenzied speaking. His eyes held hers, hard. "Inhale, Hermione. Count to seven. Now hold it… and exhale through your mouth. Now breathe in."

Hermione wordlessly followed Blaise's instructions, her eyes wide. She'd never seen Blaise take control so commandingly before; she was usually the one bossing everyone around. As they went through the breathing exercise, she felt her thoughts finally start to slow.

"There. Good. Now," Blaise said approvingly, "consider what we are going to do. Can we do a divination ritual to find out what the monster is?"

"Maybe?" Hermione said, gnawing on her lip. "I haven't read much about divinatory rituals yet, but I could. I bet I could make one, though it's just hard to interpret the answers you get, I think, but maybe with Luna—"

"Don't let your thoughts get out of control again," Blaise said firmly. "Stay with me. If not divination, what can we do?"

"I don't _know._ " Hermione fought to keep her frustration from bleeding into her tone.

"We need to solve this problem. It's fine, we'll just keep brainstorming," he told her. "Just like you taught me."

With a loud, exasperated sigh, Hermione cast her eyes around the Slytherin common room, looking for hints about what sort of snake the monster might be. There were snake motifs all over the common room, but none of them monstrous, and certainly nothing that would be able to Petrify anyone.

Her eyes caught on a small line of spiders crowded at the corner of the window out into the lake. They seemed to be trying to escape, not knowing that the window didn't open or that they'd drown even if they managed to make it through.

Abruptly, her mind was made up.

"Fuck it, we'll ask the spiders," she announced, to Blaise's obvious shock. "Get up. Let's go."


	150. Asking the Spiders

**CW: Arachnophobia**

Susan was invited to participate in the spider ritual as a sort of test-drive for possible initiation into the coven.

"We're not a _real_ coven, not yet," Hermione said. "We're still too young to all link our magic formally. But we've been practicing together, and we want to see if you're a good fit to be our fifth."

Susan had been cautiously excited.

"I've always wanted to be in a coven, ever since I was little," she confessed. "I don't fully understand why we want to talk to spiders," she added, her eyes sparkling, "but I am _incredibly_ curious to see how this works."

"Hermione thinks we can ask the spiders what the monster Petrifying everyone is," Blaise said, raising an eyebrow as Hermione traced out a circle in chalk in an abandoned dungeon classroom. "They all seem to be acting oddly, and almost all of them are gone."

"She's gone a bit mad lately," Harry said, looking at Susan sideways. "Still, this _might_ work. At least we're doing it far away from Ron."

"Hermione is making impulsive decisions," Luna said calmly. "It's to be expected. Her aura has holes, and there are gaps in her that are not her."

Harry looked alarmed. "Err—that sounds really bad, Luna."

Luna shrugged. "Perhaps."

"There!" Hermione sat back with satisfaction, having completed the skeleton of the circle. Harry's giant compass and protractor had simplified matters immensely. "Now – does everyone want to learn how to talk to the spiders, or only some of us?"

That prompted a discussion. Blaise was concerned with the volume level of spider-speech – he didn't want to hear spiders chattering in the corners of every room he ever went into. Susan expressed the concern that if the ritual called _all_ sorts of spiders to them, what would they do if a false widow or woodlouse came along and bit them?

Eventually, it was decided that Hermione, Luna, and Susan would learn the spider-speech, and that Harry and Blaise would stand guard, watching out for teachers on the prowl and deadly spiders who might try to bite. While Hermione knew there were no muggle spider varieties in the UK that could kill a person, she _also_ knew that their venom could still hurt very, _very_ badly, and she hadn't the _slightest_ idea what kind of horrific _magical_ spiders might show up.

Hermione carefully finished the circle, tracing a triangle in the center circle, making the three points for the three of them to learn the spider-language. She set up candles, then went to her bag.

"I got these from the potions cabinet," she said, handing Luna and Susan each a lacewing fly. "I know it's tiny, but we've each got to get a drop of our blood onto one of the flies."

Getting blood on the lacewings flies was harder than anticipated. Hermione cut her thumb and carefully aimed at the fly, but she kept missing the fly as the drops of blood slowly fell. She finally got it right when she held her thumb mere millimeters above the fly, annoyed with herself. Susan, seeing Hermione's struggle, opted to cut her palm, let blood pool in it, and then drench her fly in the collected pool. Luna went last, taking the knife and cutting her fingertip, one drop of blood neatly falling onto her fly's thorax the first time. Hermione gave her a dirty look as she healed all their hands, to which Luna stuck out her tongue, playful.

"Now we put them in the triangle…"

The ritual was nearly identical to the one they had used to learn Parseltongue. Hermione, rather uncharacteristically, had spent very little time researching and investigating beforehand. She'd decided that four couplets, not five, would be more appropriate, given a spider's number of legs, and she'd also altered the incantation and sacrifices to match their intent (spiders, not snakes), but that was the extent of her changes. She was confident this would work the same.

"You all are going to chant in the background, just like last time," Hermione instructed. "I'll do the couplets of the incantation, and—"

"How much power are we going to put into the circle?" Blaise interrupted. "I remember last time we didn't account for that beforehand, and rather a _lot_ went out."

Susan looked excited. "You could feel the power? Like, really _feel_ it?"

"Umm…" Hermione considered. "Well, there aren't many spiders _left_ , are there? So maybe we should put a lot in on purpose this time?"

"Any left will be in the dungeons, though, where they can't escape," Harry said. He glanced around. "I thought that's why we were doing it here. Surely we won't need that much power to just put out a call to the dungeons?"

"Better too much than too little," Hermione countered. "If we don't do enough, we have to redo the entire ritual from scratch and make a new circle and everything. What's the worst that could happen if we do too much?"

"A teacher notices and comes investigating," Luna said immediately. She held up a hand, beginning to tick things off on her fingers. "One of us collapses from magical exhaustion; the call goes out to the castle grounds and thousands of spiders come crawling; the power sweeping out challenges the structural integrity of the classroom and the ceiling collapses—"

Harry's eyes went wide, and Hermione groaned.

"And how many of those are _likely_ , Luna?" she snapped.

"Oh." Luna smiled. "Just the first one. Snape might come and investigate."

"And Professor Snape is our official coven sponsor," Hermione said, satisfied. "So even if he _does_ come, it will be _fine._ "

"You have a _professor_ as a _sponsor?_ " Susan's excitement couldn't be contained. "How does that even happen? Is that even _allowed?_ "

"They used to teach magic through covens, back before wands were common," Blaise said. "Hogwarts never changed the rules; they just built new rules on top of them. For example, you're allowed to keep an emergency Portkey on you at all times if you're a landlord, in case one of your vassals has an emergency you need to attend to."

Harry snorted. "Surprised Malfoy doesn't take advantage of that one."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think he doesn't?"

"We're getting off topic here," Hermione said. "We need to focus on the ritual. Everyone's going to chant, and I'll do the calling couplets. Use an amount of power you feel comfortable using, but don't exhaust yourself. Got it?"

"What was the chant again?" Susan asked.

" _We call upon the spiders to hear our words,"_ Hermione said patiently. " _We offer ourselves to join those that are yours_."

" _We call upon the spiders to hear our words; we offer ourselves to join those that are yours_ ," Susan muttered rapidly. She repeated it quickly to herself a few times before nodding once, decisively. "Okay. I'm ready."

"Then, let's each light our candles," Hermione said, "and we will begin."

They each knelt and lit their candles; Hermione, Luna, and Susan from inside the circle, Harry and Blaise from the outside edge.

" _We call upon the spiders to hear our words,_ " Hermione began, and her coven immediately caught on and took over.

" _We call upon the spiders to hear our words_ ," they chanted. " _We offer ourselves to join those that are yours."_

Hermione took a moment to listen as they all got the timing of the chant right, their voices matching up with each other, and she smiled.

It was a neat feeling, seeing her coven like this.

Refocusing on the ritual at hand, Hermione took the silver knife and cut her hand, letting blood drip onto the stone. She counted out four drops before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

It was harder to center her magic than usual, and Hermione fought to steady her core and her breathing. Once she felt her magic was calm enough and ready, she opened her eyes, and she began the incantations of the ritual.

" _We call out to the spiders, who crawl in the corners, who sneak and who spin,_ " Hermione intoned. _"We come to your webs patiently, calling to be let in."_

There was a slight feeling of magic curling around them all now in the circle, like a wisp of wind in the air. It was like a flicker of flame, bright but disappearing a moment later, only for another flicker to pop up somewhere else.

" _We offer you prey, to feed on and consume,_ " Hermione continued. " _We offer you this so your silk might bloom."_

Harry and Blaise looked focused, solid bastions of magic stabilizing the edge of the circle as they chanted, and the sense of magic swirling in the air built as everyone's chanting grew louder. Susan looked so excited she might wet herself, while Luna looked as serene as ever.

 _"We offer you our blood, fresh from the knife; We offer you our aid, in exchange for a life…"_

The pressure of magic in the circle seemed to vibrate with an oppressive intensity, almost as like the air was too humid, making it difficult to breathe. Hermione fought down a sudden feeling of panic, focusing on getting the last couplet out correctly.

 _"We want to speak to the spiders, the creepy-crawlers of the world. We offer you this, spiders; come heed our words!"_

As she cried out the final couplet, she felt the magic spin and swirl in the circle violently, almost like a hurricane, before it _burst_ out of the circle, going every which way it could. Hermione was panting, trying to catch her breath, and most of the others were too.

"That was _so cool_ ," Susan said, her eyes wide. Her eyes darted from person to person. "Now what?"

"Now," Hermione said, "we wait for the spiders."

They waited longer than they had for the snakes. Harry kept throwing Hermione uncertain glances as time drew on, but Hermione watched the candles; if their call was going to go unanswered, the flames would go out.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes, the spiders came.

Hermione watched them approach, feeling stupid for wondering what took them so long. She'd been remembering the quick movements of the snakes, but spiders were small, had to crawl along the floor, and couldn't cover much distance that fast. It was creepy to see so many of them approaching, but they were all very tiny, and they stayed outside of the circle once they arrived.

There weren't very many of them left for a castle of this size. There were maybe twenty of them in total, Hermione estimated, not more than two dozen for sure.

As they reached the edge of the circle, Hermione watched as there seemed to be a pushing and shoving match going on amongst the spiders. She couldn't hear any sounds, like she could with the snakes, but she waited with wide eyes until they seemed to settle down.

"They will want to hear your promise," Luna reminded her.

Hermione recited the couplets again. This time, the magic spiraled inside of the smaller inner circle, the one where Luna, Susan and Hermione each sat at a point. Susan's eyes were wide, rapt, while Luna seemed serene. As Hermione cried out the last couplet, three of the spiders scuttled forward into the triangle, and they began wrapping their prey in silk.

Hermione stared, peering down at the spiders, who slowly continued to restrain the dead flies.

 _What?_

She'd been expecting the immediate, climactic pain of learning an animal language, the way it had been with the snakes when each snake had swallowed a mouse. Watching the spiders wrap their prey in silk before sucking out its juices hadn't _quite_ been what she'd had in mind.

Suddenly, Susan cried out, clutching her head, and Hermione felt relieved. At least _Susan_ would not have to wait quite as long before feeling the magic happen – she'd have hated to have disappointed her with her first ritual. Luna yelped next, and a moment later, the blinding pain finally struck Hermione.

Hermione remembered the sharp pain from the snakes, had been ready for it, but this pain was a darker, deeper pain. Agony crawled through her neural pathways almost like a vein, burrowing into her brain, and she groaned, holding her temples and clenching her eyes tightly shut. The pain wasn't _stopping_ , and though it wasn't as sharp a pain as the first ritual's had been, this just went on and on and _on._

Finally, _finally_ , the pain stopped, the aching of her head gradually receding, and Hermione straightened, looking to Susan and Luna, who were both collecting themselves as well. Harry and Blaise had moved to the two candle points of the circle closest to the spiders, both looking ready to stomp on the spiders in case one of them tried anything.

Not that they were genuinely threatened by _spiders_. But Hermione appreciated their protective instincts nonetheless.

"Say something," Harry said, watching. "You have to talk to them."

But Hermione was watching as one spider scuttled forward a little bit. Almost intuitively, she felt herself pressing her body to the ground as close to the spiders' triangle as the circle allowed, Luna and Susan doing the same at her sides.

The spider jumped and twitched a little bit, and there was the slightest vibration in the air and in the stone.

"What are you doing?" Blaise said, looking down at them. "Are you trying to see eye to eye?"

"The spiders are asking if there's a way out," Susan said. Her eyes were wide. "They want us to help them escape."

Harry was incredulous. _"What?"_

"I'll tell them that we'll help them if they help us first," Susan said. "They have to tell us what the monster is first, right?"

Hermione watched on in astonishment as Susan tapped her fingers on the ground, wiggled her body around, bounced from the ground on her knees, and knocked on the stone some more.

Hermione groaned, closing her eyes in mortification. "I can't believe I _understood_ that."

"Hermione," Blaise said, watching Susan wriggle at the spiders. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Hermione felt her face heat up in embarrassment.

"She's talking to the spiders," Hermione admitted. "Spiders—err—they don't exactly have a language."

"They _don't?_ " Blaise's eyes were sharp.

"Well, at least not an _auditory_ one," Hermione was quick to defend. "They _do_ have methods of communication, so the ritual wasn't pointless. It's just… spiders communicate with pheromones, jumping, body language, and vibrations. It's not quite the simple hissing of the snakes."

Harry looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Are you _serious?_ "

Hermione became abruptly aware this was the most uncool thing in the world.

"The spiders say they dare not speak of it," Susan reported back. She frowned. "Now what?"

Hermione sighed. "I'll respond."

She found herself wriggling on the ground and tapping her fingers to create vibrations in the stone just so, almost instinctively. Part of her was struggling with the fact that she couldn't emit pheromones through her silk, while the other part of Hermione's mind boggled at itself and vehemently expressed that _she didn't have silk_ , while the rest of her continued shifting and wiggling and tapping out her message as best she could.

 _We can save you if you tell us,_ she tried to communicate. _We know it is a serpent of some sort. You must tell us what kind._

Harry and Blaise were openly snickering now. Hermione ignored them.

 _It is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others_ , the spiders told her, through a series of tiny jumps and jerks. _We can sense it moving. We do not name it! It is the name of our dread._

Hermione was annoyed.

 _We will help you escape,_ she communicated, loathe to wriggle about again. _You will not trade the name of the beast for your freedom and safety?_

 _We do not speak of it!_ the spiders continued to reply.

She sighed, sitting up.

"They're refusing to speak of it, even knowing we could help them escape," Hermione said. Her eyes met Blaise's, and she frowned. "I don't get it; anyone rational would take that deal."

Blaise looked thoughtful.

"Maybe they aren't rational creatures," he said. His eyes lit with an idea. "Here, Hermione: tell them if they don't tell us immediately, they'll meet their doom."

"I've already _said_ that," Hermione complained.

"You've said something similar, but not _that_ ," Blaise shot back. "Just shake your bottom some more, Hermione, and tell the spiders my message."

Hermione groaned and did as Blaise bid, wriggling and tapping and hopping on the hard stone ground.

 _You must tell us the name of the creature immediately,_ she communicated, _or you will meet your doom._

The spiders started to wriggle back again.

"Did you tell them?" Blaise asked, watching.

Hermione sighed. "Yes…"

"Good."

Abruptly, Blaise stomped down.

There was a sharp feeling of panic as Blaise crushed one of the larger spiders beneath his boot, sending the other spiders scrambling around, trying to escape, while Harry and Blaise stomped a border, keeping them from escaping back into the dungeons. Hermione, Luna, and Susan were all left gasping, the panic and fear in the air overwhelming their senses as the spiders tried to flee.

 _Tell us_ , Hermione felt Luna tap into the ground. _Tell us the name, and you will go free._

One spider scuttled forward, very fast, its legs twitching rapidly.

 _It is known as the Basilisk._ The spider shuddered. _Do not ask us to name it again! Now let us go._

Luna politely asked the spiders if they wanted transport outside of the castle as originally promised, which made the spiders pause and debate for a moment; they _did_ desperately want out of the castle, but their trust in the coven had been sorely shaken by Blaise's abrupt murder of one of their kin.

"A basilisk," Hermione said aloud, looking at Harry and Blaise. "It said it's called a basilisk."

Blaise wrinkled his face up. "I think I've heard of that?"

"I think I have too, but not much," Hermione admitted. "I do seem to remember it being a giant snake, though. I'll have to look it up."

Luna and Susan, having come to a peace accord with the spiders, were carefully helping them climb into Luna's quill case.

"We need to take them outside, so they can get away," she explained. "We'll all go as soon as they're all ready."

Hermione exhaled sharply. "Alright."

She set about packing her ritual supplies away. The candles had gone out with the successful transfer of the spider 'language', and a few _Aguamenti_ spells had the chalk lines and blood washed from the ground.

"We've got them all," Susan said, standing. Her eyes were alight with excitement behind her glasses. "This is wicked! I can't believe I can understand _spiders!_ "

Hermione, Harry, and Blaise all exchanged a look. It was obvious that Susan only thought this had been neat because she hadn't been part of the seriously cool snake ritual _first,_ like the rest of them had.

They wound their way out of the castle dungeons, Blaise leading the group.

"We're close to curfew," Harry warned. "We'll need to be quick, to make sure we have enough time to drop everyone off."

Soon enough, they were outside, and Hermione watched as Luna carefully let the spiders out of the quill case onto the grass. Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude as the spiders scuttled away, and she bit her lip. Blaise had had the right idea; being able to perceive spiders could easily get annoying, fast.

She sighed. At least there weren't any spiders left in the school anymore.

"Ravenclaw first," Harry said. "Come on, Luna."

As the group made their way up to Ravenclaw tower to drop off Luna, Hermione fell into conversation with Blaise.

"I can't believe you just _killed_ that spider," she said. "We were talking to them, and you just _murdered_ one of their friends!"

Blaise laughed.

"Hermione," he said, eyes dancing. "Consider: in any other context, would you be shocked or horrified by killing a spider?"

She paused.

"…okay, _no_ , I wouldn't," she conceded. "But we were _talking_ to them! They were _sentient!_ "

"Were they, though?" Blaise challenged. "They didn't have a language, did they? You had to communicate with them through biological functions and wiggling instead of an intelligent language."

Hermione frowned.

"You can't communicate without intelligence," she said slowly, and Blaise snorted.

" _That's_ obviously wrong. Just look at some of our classmates." He smirked. "Realistically though, Hermione – you know that's not true. Insects communicate with scents and wiggling _because_ they're not intelligent enough to have a language. And if they're not intelligent enough for a language, they're not really sentient, are they?"

"Is sentience where we determine the value of a life?" Hermione challenged. "Killing the unsentient is okay, but killing of the sentient is not?"

"I don't know where that line is, Hermione," Blaise admitted, shrugging. "I'll tell you what, though: I don't hesitate before picking a flower, and I don't flinch before stepping on spiders. And if those were truly evil things to do, I think there wouldn't be a Light wizard left alive."

Hermione considered this.

"I think I need to study this more," she decided. "Is there a formal study of ethics within the magical community I could read about?"

Blaise laughed.

"All this from killing a spider," he said, his eyes sparkling. He slung an arm around Hermione and tugged her tight to him in an odd, one-armed hug as they walked, and Hermione's face flushed. "Never change, Hermione. Never change."


	151. Fever Pitch

After the ritual, Hermione retired to her dorm, digging in her trunk for _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , a book she hadn't picked up for years. She closed the curtains around her four-poster bed and laid back, just resting for a moment. The ritual must have taken more out of her than she'd thought – she felt ill, now, almost vaguely queasy. With a sigh, Hermione rolled over and opened the book, flipped quickly to the _B_ 's, and began to read.

Basilisks, she learned, were also called the King of Serpents and were classified as an XXXXX creature by the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, for the simple reason that they could not be controlled and were extremely dangerous.

Looking a basilisk in the eyes was deadly.

And they had bright yellow eyes.

Her own eyes went wide.

 _I **knew** that..._

Hermione was furious and annoyed with herself for not realizing this before – Myrtle had _told_ her about the yellow eyes of the monster _months_ ago, but she'd forgotten. She'd gotten hung upon looking for serpents that _petrified_ people, not ones that _killed_. How had she possibly forgotten so crucial?

Foolish, _foolish_ girl. Hermione vowed to herself she'd pay more attention to details and do better in the future.

She grit her teeth and kept reading.

The basilisk was a _created_ monster, Hermione was interested to learn – they were made by hatching a chicken egg underneath a toad. The first one ever had been made by a wizard known as Herpo the Foul, which made Hermione shudder. Being called "the Foul" in the annals of history… what a legacy to leave behind.

A basilisk could grow up to fifty feet in length and was a dark green color with bright yellow eyes. Its scales were armored, like the skin of a dragon, and could deflect spells. It also had enormous fangs that were incredibly venomous and deadly. The basilisk was somehow the "mortal enemy of spiders," and spiders were able to intuitively sense basilisks and would flee whenever they did.

The basilisk's own "mortal enemy" seemed to be roosters – it was said that the crowing of a rooster would kill one instantly. Hermione wondered if this somehow linked back to the basilisk's origin from a chicken egg. It seemed appropriate – magic was so fond of its neat circles. She wondered if Care of Magical Creatures, an option for an elective class in her third year, would cover things like that.

Hermione took notes as she researched. After she had gathered as much information as she could, she jotted down a list of the victims so far and began to puzzle them out.

Myrtle Warren had looked directly into the Basilisk's eyes and died, so that was straightforward. Hagrid had said someone else his year had been Petrified while doing potions. Mrs. Norris had been Petrified, as had Colin, with his camera frozen to his face.

It was Colin that made it click. He hadn't seen the basilisk directly – he'd seen it through his _camera_.

Armed with this knowledge, Hermione began to puzzle them out.

 _ **Mrs. Norris** – hallway was flooded; saw reflection?  
_ _ **Colin** – saw through his camera  
_ _ **Justin** – saw through Nearly-Headless Nick  
_ _ **NHN** – saw full-on, but already dead  
_ _ **Lilian** – found next to suit of armor; saw reflection in breastplate?  
_ _ **Myrtle** – saw head-on; died  
_ _ **Unknown boy** – was doing potions; found with silvery potion spilled all over the floor. Reflection as well?_

As Hermione wrote, she felt a cold descend upon her as she reasoned each incident out.

It was apparent that these people were very, very lucky. Given the power of the basilisk, it was incredible that only _one_ person so far had died.

Hermione hadn't realized.

She'd made a bet about getting attacked by the basilisk with Lilian, thinking to get her Petrified. She hadn't realized she could have gotten Lilian _killed._

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. Lilian was okay; she had gotten lucky and not died. And _Hermione_ would have died if she hadn't been able to heal herself enough to get up off the stones and not bleed out on the ground when Lilian had helped attack her. Hermione had gotten her revenge on her; it was sufficient, and she wouldn't think of it any longer.

The fact that only one person had died seemed practically a miracle, really. Hogwarts must have _strong_ protective magics embedded into its very walls.

A basilisk, though… Hermione wondered how anyone could actually kill one of those. Apparently Parselmouths sometimes were able to exert some level of control over them, but would anyone really want to chance that? The simplest thing would be to chuck a dozen roosters down the sewer pipe and hope they crowed and killed the snake, but she doubted it would be that easy – how would the roosters know where to go?

It was with this worry that she wrote to Tom Riddle later that night. Her anxiety over the basilisk wouldn't abate, and she could tell it was taxing her body; her stomach was bothering her, tight and roiling as if she'd eaten something bad, and she she kept noticing her breath was coming in short breaths unless she forcibly regulated it. She needed _answers_ to calm her worries, she needed a _plan_ so she had a direction to move ahead with, and she was going to make sure Tom would give her what she needed.

Of course, first, she had to adopt the persona of a smart, utterly naive girl whom Tom wouldn't suspect.

She made a face as she wrote out pleasantries and platitudes to him, only paying half attention until she was able to gradually transition toward the heart of the matter.

 _People have_ ** _died_** _, Tom, and they're just having us wander around in pairs as if it protects us._ She gnawed on her lip. _I don't like it. We're genuinely in danger, and no one seems to truly give a damn._

The ink absorbed into the pages, words oozing back out a moment later.

 _Like I've said before, I can show you what happened when it opened last time, in my time._

Hermione snorted.

 _I'd really rather not. I don't need the horrors of your time in my mind as well as those of mine._

 _It's not like that,_ Tom argued. _I managed to catch the perpetrator last time. Maybe with this knowledge you could do the same._

Hermione scoffed, annoyed.

"You framed _Hagrid_ ," she told the diary, not writing. "I _know_ it was actually you behind it all, you stupid little twit. And I _told_ you that."

 _I'm just so anxious_ , she wrote back. _I wish I knew where the Chamber was. I could make sure to never go near it again._

 _You haven't seemed quite like yourself for several days, now_ , Tom responded. There was a pause, before new words followed. _Hermione… are you okay?_

Hermione hesitated, quill poised above the book.

 _No_ , she finally admitted. _I'm not. Not really._

 _I'm sorry to hear that,_ Tom responded. _Would you let me help you?_

 _Help me how?_ Hermione wanted to know immediately. _You're a book. What can you possibly do?_

 _I'm more than a book,_ Tom insisted. _I just want you to feel better. I can help, Hermione. Trust me._

Hermione frowned at the book.

"I can't believe a book is making me feel guilty," she muttered. "Just trying to help a friend indeed…"

As she considered her response and gnawed on her quill, abruptly, she was suddenly being burned alive.

It was as if she was in a volcano, a river of lava in front of her, a wall of flame above it, with a violent sandstorm of fire and flames swirling around her. Hermione flailed around for a moment, panicked, before realizing that despite the oppressive heat, she wasn't burning. Her eyes widened as she looked around, realizing.

She'd been here once before.

As soon as she understood what was going on, she moved to the edge of the lava river, flames all around her, and peered through the wall of fire to the other side.

On the other side stood a tall, black-haired boy of about sixteen. He wore Slytherin school robes, with a glinting silver prefect's badge pinned to his chest. He was striking, with vivid ice blue eyes, and he looked astonished as he looked at her through the wall of fire.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

It _had_ to be.

Hermione felt her anger flare, and the storm of fire increased.

"Trying to possess me?" she screamed into the storm of fire. "I _knew_ you would try it, Tom! I'm not a fool!"

The boy looked startled, before refocusing on her.

"I—Hermione? Where are we?" he called to her. "I was trying to help you with your anxiety."

The winds of fire were loud in her ears, but his lies reached her ears just fine.

"We're in my _mind_ , which means you were trying to _invade it,_ " she yelled, rage growing. "You are so full of _shit_ , Tom Riddle! Trying to help me indeed!"

"I was!" Tom yelled back, looking angry. "You've been off-kilter over the Chamber of Secrets mess for days, now!"

"Oh, like that's not _your_ fault?" she shot back, livid. "I _know_ you're the Heir of Slytherin, Tom. I'm not an idiot!"

Tom's face twisted in rage for a moment.

"How _dare_ you! I _caught_ the Heir last time!"

"You _framed_ Hagrid, you deranged sociopath!" Hermione screamed. "You grew up to be Lord Voldemort! You're a Parselmouth, and you possessed Ginny to make her unleash your stupid basilisk! I _know_ it's you!"

Tom's face reacted with astonishment and shock.

"How…?" he demanded. "How did you know?"

"I'm not an _idiot!_ " Hermione screamed. "And I'm not going to tell you _anything!_ Stop trying to invade my mind, you creep, and _maybe_ I won't destroy your diary as soon as I get out!"

That caused Tom to fall back, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'll stop," he told her. "I'll stop. But Hermione, let's _talk_ about this. Don't just try and destroy the diary, okay?"

Hermione was gearing up to scream at him again when abruptly she was back on her bed with the diary and quill, off-kilter and the world spinning around her. She lost her balance with a shriek and toppled off the left side of her bed through the curtains, landing hard on her head and shoulders, prompting a very surprised look from Tracey Davis.

"Hermione…?" Tracey ventured. "Are you okay?"

Hermione unfolded herself, eyes wild. Her head was spinning.

"I… I think so…?" she ventured. "I… wait, I think I'm hurt?"

She felt as if she'd been stabbed in the kidney while she'd been gone, and she gasped and staggered with pain. Her head was throbbing, and a flicker of worry if she'd gotten a concussion flew through her mind.

"What did he _do_ to me?" Hermione gasped, grabbing her back where it hurt. "Did he stab me?"

"Did _who_ do _what?_ " Tracey asked, getting up in alarm and immediately dropping to her side. "Hermione, what is going on?"

"The ghost of the Heir of Slytherin," Hermione said rapidly, distracted. "I was trapped in a hell, and there was fire, and I came back, and now… oh my god…"

She raised her hand from where it had touched her tangled-up robes, her face one of horror.

"He tried to kill me," she breathed. "Look."

Her hand was covered in blood, and Tracey's eyes went wide.

"Hermione—"

"You have to tell Snape," Hermione said, grabbing the front of Tracey's robes, her eyes wild. "I—I think I'm going to pass out. But you have to get Snape. Tell him—Tell him it's the Dark Lord, but his ghost as a boy—The monster's locked away, but I know the key—Tracey, promise me—"

Tracey was saying something, but Hermione could feel her body give out as she slumped against her friend on the floor, her vision blurring and going black.


	152. Censure and Stopgaps

Hermione sat very still in a chair in front of Snape's desk. Snape was looking at her silently, his face an emotionless mask.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, steepling his hands. "You have caused a _significant_ uproar with your antics, you realize?"

Hermione winced and looked down at the floor.

"Sorry, sir," she whispered.

"Your professors have been _extremely_ concerned with you acting unlike yourself recently," Snape said, his tone conversational. "There were some who wanted you to be examined by Madam Pomfrey, to make sure you were okay. Professor Sprout nearly _fainted_ when she overheard you swear once."

Hermione's face burned in embarrassment.

"It was determined that it was the stress of the situation with the attacks was driving you to act uncharacteristically," Snape continued, "and we decided to monitor the situation — yes, the staff got together just to discuss _you_. But your mood _continued_ to grow more and more _volatile_ , alarming your classmates more and more."

Hermione winced. "I—I know, sir."

"Then you summoned _spiders_ ," Snape said. His eyes glinted. "You are lucky that no one else saw your little stunt – _don't_ deny it Miss Granger, no one else would have done anything so impulsive and _stupid_ – with the _dozens_ of spiders running down the hallways in a frenzy."

"I—I had a good reason, sir, I swear—"

"I thought you had been _possessed_ , did you know?" Snape said, his voice low. "It would have explained the sudden behavioral changes, and Merlin _knows_ you get up to enough _untested_ Grey magic for it to be a _possibility_." His eyes glittered. "I even _tested_ you during Potions one day, though you didn't know it at the time. For _possession_. Your magic was your own, though, and so I watched on with concern. And then…"

He paused, black eyes piercing.

"And then tonight, Miss Davis came running to me in a panic, saying you were hallucinating the Heir of Slytherin attacking you, and your delusions were causing you to manifest _actual physical wounds_ and bodily harm. But upon investigation, the cause of all this uproar was…"

His eyes sharpened, cutting into her.

"…you had gotten your _period_."

Hermione winced.

"I—they call it their 'cycle', in the wizarding world, I believe—"

"Do _not_ presume to lecture me." Snape's voice cracked through the room like a whip. "Your _period_ has caused no little distress to the _entire student body_ , and your erratic behavior has caused concern throughout the entire _staff_ of this school. Your paranoid delusions and hallucinations will _not_ continue, do you understand? The question before us is _not_ 'what do we call it?'; the question is 'what do we _do_ about it'."

His eyes were hard, black holes, and Hermione swallowed.

"I warned you." Snape's anger vibrated in his tone, barely held back. "I _warned_ you, did I not? That your overactive core would become unstable once your magical capacity began to exponentially grow?"

"You—you did, sir." Hermione bit her lip very hard, willing her eyes to not tear up.

She'd never felt so ashamed.

"And yet, despite my warning... _this_ happened." His black eyes glittered. "You _knew_ you needed to plan for this eventuality... and yet, you did _not_. You did _nothing._ "

"It's really hard to realize you're going crazy in the moment when you're going crazy?" Hermione offered. "Now that I _know_ what's going on, it's a lot easier to look back and realize 'oh, of course something was going on—'"

"And now that you _do_ know that your core is unstable," Snape said, raising one eyebrow skeptically, " _do_ you have a course of action prepared?"

"I—I came up with back-up plans, back when you told me initially," she said hesitantly. "When you originally warned me bad things might happen. The main plan was to complete the bond with my coven and use their magic to help stabilize me."

"And…?" Snape snapped.

"Err—well, Luna's not ready yet," Hermione said, uneasy. "So… that won't work, really."

"Was that your _only_ plan, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, his voice curt. "I daresay there isn't exactly a standard course of treatment for 'spinning out of control with one's magical core' available for easy reference."

"I—I had another one, sir." Hermione took a deep breath. "But I would need your help with it, if you were willing."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Miss Granger, I think you _severely_ underestimate the _drama_ your little period predicament has inflicted upon my life." His tone was dry. "If I can help _resolve_ this situation, _believe me_ , I will."

Hermione blew out her breath, exhaling.

"Well, it's—it's like what we did last New Year's. Not a few months ago, but in my first year."

Snape's eyes sharpened.

"Miss Granger—"

"I think if we bind an earth elemental to me, it'll help stabilize my magic," Hermione rushed out. "I researched it, months ago — I looked up all kinds of elemental magic. The earth is very stable, and if I can ground all the extra energy in me into the earth or cycle the magic through the earth, it'll all calm down and I won't have it panicking my thoughts or making me paranoid and manic and then I'll be able to feel like myself again hopefully and—"

" _Silence_ ," Snape snarled, and Hermione abruptly cut herself off.

His eyes glittered at her. "You want _another_ elemental bound to you?"

"It's the only thing I could think of that might help," Hermione said quietly. "At least until I can formally bond with my coven."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose very tightly.

"I have _never_ heard of an earth elemental being bound to a person," he told her. "The Dark Lord was researching such things, but as far as I am aware, he only ever bound the air."

"Then I'll be the first, sir," Hermione said bravely. "The earth has a grounding, stable magic. If we don't want my core to overload and 'pop'…"

Snape closed his eyes and sighed, before standing up abruptly.

"You will tell _no one_ of this," he told her, taking his cloak from a hook on the wall. "You will tell _no one_ that I helped you, and you will tell _no one_ of what we did. If this works, excellent; you will plague me no longer. If it does _not…_ "

Hermione swallowed hard, and Snape's eyes glittered.

"Well," he said softly. "We'll have to see."

* * *

It was dark, and it was long after curfew. The grounds were dark, with little illumination filtering through the clouds from the sliver of the moon above, and Hermione had to be careful not to stumble as she hurried after her professor.

It was windy, and Hermione shivered, following Snape silently as he marched her to the edge of the forest, where he stopped. He made a small circle with a triangle inside of it out of the white, glowing material he'd used the last time they'd done this, when she'd pleaded to learn how to fly. He put malachite in the center this time, lustrous green stones instead of moonstones, and he stood with a wide stance, his feet on two different points of the triangle.

Apprehensive, Hermione took her place on the last remaining point.

"We are going to summon an earth elemental," he said finally, his eyes holding hers. "We will then bind it to you. The goal is this will allow you to ground your excess energy, to stabilize you as your core struggles with its own growth."

She could recognize more of what Snape was doing this time; it was always important to state your intent and purpose before a ritual, regardless if the participants were already aware of it or not.

"I understand, sir," Hermione said quietly.

"You will need to subdue the elemental," Snape warned her. "I know not the strength of those of the earth; I have no idea how difficult this will be compared to that of the air." His eyes glittered. "If the earth elemental is more powerful and you cannot subdue it, I will do my best to exorcise it from you, but know that I have no knowledge of earth magic myself, Miss Granger. There is no guarantee I will able to." His eyes held hers. "There is the very _real_ possibility that this will go very poorly."

"I know." Hermione took a deep breath. "But I need to try. And it's my risk to take." She held his eyes, determined. "I'm ready."

With a solemn nod to her, Snape closed his eyes, and he began to chant, tracing a symbol in the air with his hands. Hermione kept her breathing even and held fast to her determination, remembering the force of the fight she'd had last time, and she watched and listened attentively as he cast. Magic built in the air around them, swirls of light spiraling inside the circle, and the grass began to glow.

There was a rumbling beneath her feet in the ground, and gradually, a small being made of mud was pulled up from the ground into the middle of the triangle; a vague humanoid being made of mud with no eyes or face.

 _Golem,_ Hermione thought.

Then Snape chanted louder, there was the loud rumble of an earthquake, and the mud creature disappeared _into_ her, inside of her chest.

Hermione _screamed_.

There was something _inside_ of her crushing her lungs, squeezing her breath out from _inside her chest cavity_ , a solid, forbidding presence that was _determined_ to escape. She could _feel_ the golem inside of her, thundering against her organs and insides, wanting _out._ Hermione fought the urge to swallow mud and choke herself, to jump off of a tree, and she grit her teeth, focusing on the physical pain in her kidneys and womb from her cycle. Feeling pain had helped her last time, with the air—

The pain helped focus her, helped remind her of her own body. She was a _person_ , not a woman made of mud. She was determined, and she _would_ _not fail_ against the earth—

The ground shook underneath her – or was she shaking? – as she fought, pushing her will against that of the golem as she struggled for breath. She could feel herself weakening, though, from the golem's fight as it crushed her lungs – her lungs were empty, she just couldn't get enough air—

 _Air!_

In a flash of insight, Hermione _pulled_ on her air elemental, which immediately went spinning into action, pulling wind into her lungs and inflating them full with a sharp gasp. Awakened, Hermione could now feel her own will rejuvenated and fighting against that of the earth, but _also_ the will of the air, pushing the earth further into submission, forcing it into a place alongside itself. Struggling, Hermione forced the spirit back, shoving, coughing as she did—

Something slotted neatly into place, the struggle vanishing, and Hermione abruptly fell over from the sudden absence of force.

"Miss Granger—!"

Snape was at her side, Hermione realized dizzily. She could see him peering down at her in alarm. She gave him a shaky smile.

"I did it," she slurred. "It… I think it wanted to kill me, but I got it…"

"We are not done yet, Miss Granger." Snape's eyes glittered. "Now, you need to see if you can use this to stabilize your core."

Hermione swallowed. "…right."

Closing her eyes and focusing, Hermione traced her power through her arms back to her magical pool.

As she suspected, the entire thing felt shaky, like a cauldron shuddering over too hot a flame. The walls of the container themselves were splotchy and thin, stretched out and gaping in places, and if her magic had truly been a liquid, it would be leaking out over the ground. Her core at the bottom of the pool was spinning frantically, she could tell, constantly generating power to try and keep up with her new exponential pool growth.

There were still little airy bits of energy inside of her, she could feel, but there were new, rich pieces of a steady, protective magic as well. As she reached for one of these new parts, she shuddered, and she could feel the new magic take over, grounding her with barely a thought.

Hermione fell instinctively to the ground, her bottom set on the earth. She could feel the bits of earth energy inside of her filtering her own magic, feeding it down into the earth and drawing it back up like it was cycling it, and gradually, Hermione could feel her own magic settle down.

There was still her magic in there, growing. But most of the magic inside of her now was solid and steady, and for the first time in a _long_ time, Hermione felt her thoughts slow again, and she felt like she could breathe.

She looked up at Snape, who regarded her with one eyebrow raised pointedly.

"Well?" he said.

Hermione smiled. "It worked."

"Thank the _stars_ above," Snape said. He gave her a curt look. "And whom will you tell of this adventure?"

"No one," Hermione promised. "I will tell no one."

" _Good_."

She followed him back to the castle, and he escorted her to the Slytherin dungeons – after all, no one was allowed to be alone, and it was far past curfew now.

"Congratulations on your stopgap for stabilizing your energy," Snape told her, nodding to her formally at the entrance. His eyes glittered. "And congratulations on your chrysalization as well."

Hermione moaned in embarrassment as she went through the door, Snape's dark laugh echoing in the hallway behind her.


	153. Smoothing and Stablizing

Over the next several days, Hermione realized just how crazy she had really gone.

The next morning, her friends all looked at her at breakfast tentatively, as if she might snap at any moment, and it made her heart ache to think that she might have hurt them or pushed them away.

With a deep breath, she took an apple.

"Defense today," she remarked, taking a bite. "Wonder what travesty Lockhart has planned for us."

She offered her friends a soft smile, apologetic, and she could practically see the tension radiating from Blaise, Millie, and Tracey slowly start to dissipate, their shoulders relaxing and faces smoothing out as she greeted them calmly, not snapping or snarling at all.

"My bet's on his vampire adventure again," Blaise said. "He likes going on about that one."

"That's because he likes doing both parts," Millie pointed out. "He likes being able to twirl his cape around and speak in a terrible accent to portray the vampire."

Tracey's eyes sparkled.

"I don't mind in the slightest," she said, shameless. "Have you _seen_ how tight the trousers he wears under his robes are?"

Hermione smiled at her friends, eating her apple, feeling her sense of kinship with them slowly rebuild as they continued to mock the Defense teacher and make snarky comments, things settling back to normal once more. She knew it would take a while to fully repair their trust – she _had_ become quite the terror, hadn't she? – but she was on the path to reconciliation.

Harry, Neville, and Ron seemed relieved to see her in a more typical mood when she caught up with them in the library, making her feel even guiltier. She hated realizing how she's lashed out at those she most cared about. Hermione couldn't bear to make eye contact with Ron – the shame of him having been sort of _right_ about what had been causing her bad mood was overwhelming.

Her classmates seemed on edge around her too. She caught more than a few surprised and suspicious glances when she calmly answered questions and earned points for Slytherin, which made her head spin with worry and wonder. Had she _not_ been doing that the past few weeks? What _had_ she been doing in class?

Apparently storming through the school in a bad mood and glaring at people, if their reactions were any indication.

No wonder her friends were so relieved to have the regular Hermione back.

Her mental episode had cost her more than just her friends' good will, however. Hermione found her homework for the past three weeks had been done _appallingly_ poorly, with barely any extra details included at all and nary a footnote in sight. She was horrified, and she spent the first day scrambling around to all her teachers in her free time, dragging Blaise with her, begging for extensions to fix her homework or to get extra credit to make up for her mediocre work.

Most of her teachers looked on her kindly, some with pity, and most were willing to give her extensions or offer extra credit to make up for her lacking work. As she went around, Hermione realized just how much the faculty must have noticed her erratic behavior. Snape had been telling the truth – all her professors seemed unsurprised by her begging to make up her marks, and they all seemed relieved to see her back to normal as well.

Hermione was surprised when Blaise pointed out that her marks hadn't suffered as much as she'd feared. Though her work wasn't up to the quality she usually provided, her essays had been complete and had always fulfilled the entire scope of the assignment. She was surprised to see that she had still earned perfect grades, despite her lack of supplemental research and supporting details and footnotes.

She was rather relieved, though; there was no _way_ Snape would have _ever_ given her extra credit.

The embarrassment and shame she felt from Snape's dressing-down was pressing and horrible. Though Hermione was now able to go outside and cycle her magic through the earth to help her calm down, the emotional misery she faced wasn't a symptom of an unstable core – it was the very real symptom of majorly messing up, and the disappointment in her of someone she looked up to.

She took some small comfort in the fact Snape had been wrong about one thing; she _hadn't_ been hallucinating. Riddle _had_ tried to possess her, she knew. At the _least_ , he'd tried to mess with her mind, only to fail from the protection she had from the Occlumency ritual.

(Not that it was a great comfort, knowing _someone had tried to take over her mind_.)

Now that she could think straight again, though, Hermione felt a little better at being able to lay out a well-thought out plan: research basilisks and how to kill them, research how a _diary_ could possibly _possess_ people, and then go to Snape with her conclusive results.

She couldn't bear the thought of going to Snape again and admitting she was out of her league with something else. Admitting to talking to what she _knew_ was an evil diary wasn't quite the same as being oblivious to her magical core destabilizing, and she could just imagine the rage and fury in Snape's eyes if she told him what she'd done. If she could figure out a solution to the whole thing, she could present it as the answer to a research problem she'd discovered and not have to go into detail about the diary itself – Snape and Dumbledore would quickly move into action to stop the basilisk, and hopefully they'd just follow her recommendation on how to disenchant the diary or whatever solution she found.

Maybe going to him with the answer would help restore her reputation in his eyes, she hoped.

But only after she figured out what was going on.

There were other, more subtle things Hermione's spiral out of control had caused, and ones that had lingering effects she couldn't mitigate as easily. She'd neglected braiding her hair before bed in her constant anxiety, and her hair had taken to frizzing out beyond all belief when she got emotional, which Hermione hadn't noticed in the slightest. Blaise said sometimes there had been _sparks_ in it, when she'd been particularly riled up.

She'd had to resort to the book her parents had gotten her on grooming charms to hex her hair into submission. It had taken an obnoxious amount of time and a _lot_ of trial and error, which Tracey had happily helped with, but she finally found a spell that calmed her hair down and helped it lay in pretty waves down her back. It still had volume, and Hermione expected it might still spark for a while, but at least it looked _controlled._

Hermione might not care much about how she looked, but even she had her limits. And looking like Albert Einstein was one of them.

Less easily handled was the fact Hermione's metabolism had gone out of control, fluctuating wildly day by day. Hermione was dismayed to discover somewhere in the past month of her instability she'd gained nearly a stone, and she'd developed hips and breasts along the way.

Millie found this hilarious, when Hermione raged about it in the mirror in the dormitory, turning and looking at herself from different angles, noting the changes in her from the front and the side.

"I've had to deal with breasts since I _started_ Hogwarts," Millie said, smirking. "You can learn to deal with it the same as the rest of us."

"You've chrysalized, Hermione," Tracey piped in. "It's appropriate to have a more womanly figure now."

Hermione shuddered. "Don't remind me."

"It's a _good_ thing," Tracey said firmly. "It means you're a woman, now. People will look on you with more respect."

"It's still _weird_ to me, realize," Hermione said. She shook her head. "In the muggle world, it's not _normal_ to announce to the world you've gotten your cycle."

"Don't forget to wear a butterfly," Millie said slyly. "You have to let everyone know of your societal debut."

"I don't _go_ into Wizarding Society much, at least," Hermione sighed. "I suppose that'll be this summer in Diagon Alley, won't it?"

"Whatever your next appearance outside school is, really." Millie shrugged. "That'll at least give you a few months to get adjusted to the idea."

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror again, tugging at her robes and blouses, which refused to lay how she wanted them too.

"At least our school robes cover us up," she sighed. "All you can see is the shape, really."

"Except for your casual robes," Tracey teased. "That one with the V will look quite different now, won't it?"

Hermione's face flamed, and Millie and Tracey teased her about her new figure as Hermione went through her entire wardrobe, observing the changes in how everything fit and looked now that she had a different silhouette.

She never thought she'd be so glad Madame Malkin had put in magical extensions in her robes, nor so grateful to her mother, who had insisted she get a few bras to grow into with a cup size too large.


	154. Herpo the Foul

Quirrell's trunk did not have a book on basilisks and how to kill them, to Hermione's disappointment. One thing it _did_ have was a book on Herpo the Foul, who had created the first basilisk. It was one of the books that had been bound shut, which made Hermione pause.

Most of the books bound shut with belts were books that looked to be obviously jinxed. Hermione could guess that _Curse Creation for your Enemies_ was particularly nasty, as probably was _Undetectable Poisons and Potions_. But a _biography_ …

That seemed odd and out of place.

Hermione eventually decided to risk it, casting a couple detection charms on the tome, before mentally shrugging and removing it from the trunk. After completing all her homework (busywork or not) to her usual expectations and ability, Hermione settled into a nook in the Slytherin common room to read, a book sock camouflaging the cover.

Herpo the Foul, Hermione learned, was a particularly nasty fellow. Born in Ancient Greece, he was one of the first Dark Wizards ever, and he helped pioneer the field of the Dark Arts. It seemed an odd phrase to use, that he was a 'pioneer' of such an evil field with such terrible and lasting effects. 'Pioneering' a field usually held a positive connotation. It was like saying Joseph-Ignace Guillotin had been a pioneer in the art of killing people more efficiently.

Though, technically, he _had_ been, Hermione supposed.

Herpo the Foul was born a Parselmouth, and he spent a lot of time speaking with snakes. He apparently discussed curse creation with them, and they offered opinions on what they thought would be most the painful and most evil. Particularly nasty curses he'd come up with included the Blasting Curse (which made anything it touched explode), the Disintigration Curse (which caused things to burst into millions of tiny pieces), the Entrail-Expelling Curse (which did _exactly_ what it sounded like), and the Cruciatus Curse (one of the three Unforgivables, which caused excruciating pain in the victim).

As part of his constant experimentation and pushing the boundaries of Dark magic, Herpo managed to create the first basilisk, by hatching a chicken egg under a toad. The theory he'd been working off of was one of manipulating conflicting life-giving energies. Failed experiments before the basilisk had included a blind, legless dragon that could scream but not fly ('Wyrm'; a duck's egg under a snake; abandoned in Eastern Europe), a horrifying, spiked reptile creature that drank the blood of livestock and could reproduce on its own ('Chupacabra'; a dragon's egg under a chicken; disposed of in North America), and an enormous, subterranean winged snake with a venomous bite ('Kumcharangi'; a snake's egg under a toad; hidden in Australia). The basilisk was what he considered his only true success.

Herpo had managed to control the basilisk through his Parseltongue, which Hermione found to be rather lucky. He used the basilisk to guard his dark manor. When it was young, it Petrified all those who came to try to stop Herpo or take him in, and when it was older, its gaze killed them all.

Hermione imagined sort of a horrifying version of Medusa's garden, with a dark, forbidden fortress with statues scattered on the garden, only with the statues still somehow horrifyingly alive.

Through his cross-breeding and other creature experimentation, Herpo became interested in the nature of sapience and the soul. Some animals, he'd discovered, were intelligent, and he could tell in his cruel experiments on them. Others, however, were not. Herpo continued to do experiments on creatures, trying to classify where the line lay between the two. He eventually came to the conclusion that there were four types of 'energy' that could be possessed by things that were alive:

The first was 'life', which simply meant a thing was alive, grew, and could die. Examples he had listed in his notes included plants, trees, molds, and fire, which Hermione found rather interesting to include.

The second was 'spirit', which meant a thing had some form of will or self-preservation. Most animals fell in this category: insects, fish, small birds, and rodents.

The third was the 'soul', which meant a thing had a greater awareness of itself and its place in the world. Herpo listed humans, clearly, but also included snakes, large cats, wolves, and birds of prey.

The fourth was 'magical', which was what truly separated man from the beasts. If a being did not have magic, it was not human. Only wizards possessed the ability to magically exert their will upon the world, which defined their experience as people within the world.

It was like reading the most corrupt ethics paper ever. Hermione was horrified as she read, realizing Herpo would have classified _muggles_ as 'non-human', but the reasoning, though twisted and obviously wrong, was _fascinating_ to read, and she couldn't stop.

It was when talking with a Runespoor, a type of magical three-headed snake, that Herpo had learned something interesting.

On a Runespoor, each head had a different function: the left was the planner, the middle the dreamer, and the right head the critic. Oftentimes, the left and middle heads would band together to bite off the head of the right when the right's criticism became too much to bear. This left the Runespoor still alive, but incomplete. They tended not to live much longer afterwards.

After such an event, though…

The Runespoor would be alive, but left with only two-thirds of its soul.

Herpo was fascinated by this discovery, that a creature could split its soul into pieces. He experimented with Runespoors, trying to keep the third head alive immediately after being bitten off, to no avail. Frustrated, he turned back to the Dark Arts, where theories on the best way to split people open were prevalent, and immersed himself in theory and research for years, hiding all his notes and research from everyone.

When he emerged from his lair years later, he had created a process to split his soul. And in following the process he had laid out and through performing the corresponding ritual, he was able to split his soul in two and contain one part of it in an object: his lyre, which he used to help compose his Dark chants. This way, if he were killed, his soul would be incomplete and tethered to the earth, so his soul would linger and remain to seek out a new body. He would never truly die.

Herpo called the object a Horcrux.

And it was here Hermione paused.

 _This_ , Hermione felt, was why the book had been bound.

 _This_ was the most evil thing, and _this_ was why Voldemort did _not_ want her reading this book.

Her eyes scanned the next few paragraphs, her mind whirring. The biography did not detail what the ritual process he followed was, only mentioning that the creation of a Horcrux was considered the supreme act of evil and the worst of the Dark Arts. Very few books would even dare mention what a Horcrux was, and only one known book in existence, _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , had detailed information on the method and consequences of creating a Horcrux.

 _This._ Surely _this_ was what had kept Voldemort alive, after his body had been destroyed.

Voldemort had been vanquished, but his soul had lingered, being incomplete. He had sought out Quirrell to possess, and he had been after the Elixir of Life to help him gain a new body.

All the pieces fit.

She wondered if Dumbledore knew of such evil magic.

Hermione wouldn't be surprised.

Despite his Horcrux, Herpo _had_ died, however. He had been slain in a duel over rights to a nundu. His guardian basilisk, confused at the loss of her master, had tried to seek him out. She had been drawn to the magic of him she felt that remained, his lyre, and curled up with it in her sleep. Her venom had dripped onto the lyre, her teeth sinking into the wood in her sleep, and the venom destroyed the Horcrux from the inside-out.

Hermione thought it oddly fitting.

With both parts of his soul unbound, the author theorized that Herpo could no longer remain on the mortal plane and had well and truly died, moving on to wherever the dead moved on to. The author continued, however, noting that there were recordings of people's interactions with the Horcrux over the years prior to Herpo's demise. Herpo had liked carrying it around, showing off his evil accomplishment to unknowing witnesses.

There were stories of the lyre being left in public, in alleyways, and someone hearing the lyre begin to play. The listener would be drawn to the lyre, despite no obvious magic allowing it to perform, and would be trapped in a trance state until Herpo found them. Herpo enjoyed seeing people under his power and control and reveled in it, though he let most of them go, only capturing 'a few' of the poor listeners to try out new curses on.

And _that…_

 _That_ sounded awfully familiar.

An evil object, containing the personality of the person who created it, with the ability to manipulate the people around it?

She daresay she knew one of those.


	155. Talking to Tom, the Horcux

Hermione put off her confrontation of Riddle. The last interaction they'd had was him pleading with her not to destroy the diary, and then her flying back out of her mental defense to discover she'd been bleeding all over her sheets.

She considered the matter carefully. She didn't really know what all a Horcrux could _do_ , if it felt threatened, if anything. It had managed to possess Ginny successfully, and it had tried to do _something_ to Hermione's mind, though it'd been blocked out.

 _Tom_ had been blocked out, Hermione knew. The Horcrux wasn't just an _it._ It was a _who._

There was a piece of _soul_ in that book.

That made it alive.

Hermione felt like she had all the pieces, now. She knew the monster was a basilisk. She knew how to open the Chamber of Secrets. She knew how Tom Riddle had been able to control Ginny into opening the Chamber of Secrets and unleashing the horror within. And she knew why no one had died, only been petrified.

What she _didn't_ know was how to go about telling an adult about all this without admitting she knew about the Darkest magic in existence, and she had been talking to an example of it regularly, telling it about her day.

She could imagine the situation now.

 _Professor Snape,_ she'd go. _I know what's behind the attacks, sir. We can call off the security measures._

Snape would raise an eyebrow at her.

 _Miss Granger,_ he'd begin. _You are a teenage girl. If you really think you have solved this mystery when the staff and the Headmaster have not—_

 _It's a basilisk,_ she'd interrupt. _A basilisk is the monster in the chamber._

Snape would stop.

 _And how,_ he would inquire, _do you know that?_

Hermione would have to explain her reasoning: Harry hearing the voices in the walls, interviewing Myrtle, the effects of the basilisk's gaze when reflected, and it being controlled through Parseltongue.

 _Are you saying that Harry Potter is the Heir of Slytherin?_ Snape would say, being openly sarcastic. _Or are there other snake-speakers in this castle I am unaware of?_

Though her coven would fit the bill, Hermione wouldn't admit to that. She'd have to explain that there was an evil diary that could possess people, make them talk to snakes, and have the basilisk attack people. And Snape would stop all his movements abruptly.

 _And how, Miss Granger,_ he would whisper, _did you come by this diary?_

And Hermione would have to lie. _I found it, sir._

 _Did the diary make_ _ **you**_ _do such things, then?_ Snape would say, his eyes sharp. _Is this a confession from you?_

And Snape would continue to press her until it all unfolded.

 _It's a Horcrux, sir,_ she'd admit, babbling in nervousness. _It's the Dark Lord's diary from his teenage years. It writes back to you if you write in it. It tried to possess my mind, once, but my Occlumency ritual kept it out. But someone had this horcrux, and it possessed them and made them use it, but now they don't have it anymore, so it's all okay. We can just send someone down to the Chamber to slay the basilisk, and then all the loose ends will be tied up._

 _Oh?_ Snape would question, giving her a long look, his eyes glittering. _Are they, now?_

 _Aren't they?_ Hermione would say. _It answers all the questions._

 _But it provokes a new one_. Snape would move to sit directly in front of her, his eyes boring into hers. _How, Miss Granger, do you know about Horcruxes?_

And then she'd be expelled, her wand would be snapped, her life would be ruined, and she'd be left destitute to die in the streets.

As simple as it seemed to just 'hand-off' the entire matter to a teacher as a mystery solved, Hermione knew there would be too many questions any of the professors would have. They'd surround her and interrogate her, despite her figuring it all out.

 _How do you know what a Horcrux is?  
_ _Where did you learn?  
_ _What did you tell teenage Voldemort?  
_ _How did you keep him out of your head?  
_ _How did you learn Parseltongue?  
_ _Who is teaching you the Dark Arts?_

No, Hermione knew. She'd have to deal with the entire matter herself. It was _her_ responsibility, now, really, now that she was the one who had the horcrux in her possession.

Anything else would be irresponsible of her to do.

She sighed, withdrawing a piece of parchment, labeling it _Current Plan_.

She gnawed on her quill, considering, before putting down a few bullet items.

 _• Kill the basilisk  
_ \- _Rooster? Sword?_

 _• Make sure people know it's dead_

 _• Find someone to pin the whole Heir of Slytherin thing on so the security measures will stop_

Hermione paused.

Find someone to frame as the Heir of Slytherin?

 _That_ sounded like something Tom Riddle could provide advice on.

* * *

Hermione jinxed her curtains closed, sitting on her bed. She took several deep breaths, focusing on her intent, before picking up her quill, her eyes alert and sharp.

She was ready to do this.

 _Hello, Tom_ , she wrote.

The response was immediate.

 _Hermione? Are you okay? You haven't written in so long, I thought something had happened to you._ The words came quickly, as if in a panic. Hermione watched with detached amusement as they scrawled across the page.

 _I'm fine,_ Hermione said. _I'm better than fine, actually. I've figured everything out._

 _Your anxiety is better?_ Tom questioned, and Hermione snorted.

 _I sorted that out ages ago,_ she replied. _No, I've figured everything out about the Chamber of Secrets._

There was a pause, there.

 _Are you going to tell me?_ Tom asked.

 _Do I need to?_ Hermione questioned. _After all, you already know._

This time, she was prepared for the abrupt drop into fire, and she strode right to the edge of the river of lava to glare at Tom Riddle through the fiery storm.

When looking closer and not in as much of a panic, smaller details stood out. He was still tall, with dark hair and bright eyes, but she could see how meticulously put-together he looked – his badge shined, his robes wrinkleless, his trousers pressed. His gaze this time, though, was evaluating.

"I thought this way might be easier to talk to you," he said, from the other side of the fire. "It's faster, at the least."

Hermione scoffed. "And how am I sustaining this?" she asked. "This is using up my life energy, isn't it?"

"Your magic," Tom corrected her. "Your magic fuels this construct." He gave her a considering look. "I daresay you have enough to keep us here for a while."

"Oh," Hermione said. She considered. "…that's alright, then. I can probably hold it for a while."

The wind of fire died down somewhat, as did the oppressive heat. The river of lava burbled threateningly, a clear barrier between them, but the noise level reduced enough for them to speak. Tom raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He moved to the edge of the lava river and sat down, elegantly folding his long legs as he did.

Hermione sat down too, choosing instead to dangle her legs off of the ledge into the river of lava, just to show off. It was _her_ mind, and she wouldn't be hurt by the fire like he would.

Tom regarded her carefully.

"You said you had figured everything out," he said.

Hermione lifted her chin, defiant.

"I did," she said.

Tom smirked.

"Then, by all means…" He gestured to himself, giving a courtly bow. "Your audience awaits."

Hermione was never good at turning down from a challenge.

"You're the Heir of Slytherin," she told him. "Fifty years ago, you opened the Chamber of Secrets to unleash the basilisk inside against the school. You only stopped after Myrtle died. I'm not sure if you meant for her to be attacked, or if it was just poor timing, what with her crying in the bathroom where the entrance to the chamber is, but she died. Afterward, you framed Hagrid and his Acromantula for the attack, and the fervor around the chamber died down, which makes me think that they were thinking of shutting down the school."

Tom's expression didn't flutter. "What makes you think that?"

"This time, people are nervous, and there are security measures, but no one has talked about shutting down the school, and we have _way_ more people petrified than there were in your time," Hermione pointed out. "Petrification is reversible; and as unfortunate as all this is, it's also considered just 'another unfortunate thing that can happen' by people who grew up with magic." She paused. "The only way I think they would want to close the school and pull their children out was if someone _died_ , and they thought their children weren't safe anymore."

Tom tilted his head slightly. "An interesting deduction."

"It follows," Hermione said, shrugging. "You wouldn't have needed to frame anyone otherwise, I think."

"And this is everything you have figured out?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Not hardly," Hermione scoffed. "I figured all that out _months_ ago, before I even _had_ your stupid diary."

A flicker of surprise crossed Tom's face. Hermione continued on.

"The puzzle was figuring out how it was happening _this_ time," she said. "I asked around, but Voldemort didn't have children, so it couldn't have been a new Heir – it _had_ to be you again."

Tom jerked.

"You think—"

"Again, I'm not an idiot," Hermione snapped. "Your name is an anagram of 'I am Lord Voldemort'."

Tom gave her a considering look.

"You continue to impress me, Hermione," he said, but Hermione rolled her eyes.

"For figuring out your word play on a scrap of parchment and lucky chance?" she said. " _Please_. No, you should be impressed with the rest."

Tom's eyes gleamed. "Then, by all means... please continue."

"I did the ritual that I did to speak to snakes in order to speak with spiders," Hermione told him. "They told me the creature was a basilisk, which was one of the key pieces I was missing – I'd known it was a serpent of some sort for months, but not what kind. And _that_ led me to research basilisks… which leads me to you."

Hermione fixed her eyes on him, setting him in her gaze. Tom appeared unruffled.

"I know what you are," she said softly. "And I know how you controlled Ginny by means of just a book."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Do you, now?"

"I do. It was just a matter of research." Here, Hermione smiled nastily. "After all, Herpo the Foul created the first basilisk, as well as the first one of you."

Tom's face twisted with rage, and there was a sudden roar of fire and _whoosh_ of flame, and then Tom was yelping, hastily stamping out the fire on his robes and hands. The lava between them burbled with satisfaction, and the flames between them stayed high, defending in case of another sudden attack.

Hermione was impressed, regarding her own mindscape. This idle piece of defensive magic with Draco had really paid off, hadn't it? Draco's fiery temper and magic had provided a far more useful defensive location than her own sea of ice would have for him in the same situation.

Successfully smothering the flames, Tom stalked back to the edge of the river, sitting back a bit further. His eyes fixed on her, and this time there was no fake friendship in them.

"Going to try and cross the river again, Tom?" Hermione mocked softly, and his face twisted.

"No," he said tightly. "I'm not."

Hermione folded her arms. "Good."

He sat there, looking at her with piercing eyes, and Hermione just watched him back, before finally continuing on.

"So, you're Voldemort's Horcrux," she said. "Being part of a Horcrux allows you to manipulate those around you. This gave you the power to draw Ginny in and possess her, directing her to carry out your evil orders."

"Bravo." Tom's voice was sarcastic and cutting. "You've figured it all out."

Hermione gave him a mock bow. "As I said."

"So now what?"

"Now what?" Hermione felt surprised, her eyes scanning his face for clues. "Now, nothing. I keep your diary, I _don't_ let you possess me, and I figure out how to capture or kill the basilisk while simultaneously framing someone _else_ for it so the security measures stop – not dissimilar to what you did, really, but with the _real_ culprit monster this time, not a stand in."

Tom's eyes were evaluating. "And then…?"

Hermione shrugged. "I mean, I might get a Special Services to the School award like you did? That'd be neat. But then the Chamber of Secrets mystery will be finished, your evil plan will have been thwarted, and that's that."

Hermione tossed her head and gave him a look of satisfaction. Tom's rage-torn expression had lessened, and he was now giving her a judging look, looking her over from top to bottom.

"And that's that," he said softly. "But you seem to be forgetting a key part of all this, Hermione."

Hermione blinked. "I am?"

"Yes." Tom's eyes glittered. "Me."

"Oh…" Hermione trailed off. She shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm going to need to figure out a way to frame whomever I pick without using your diary. I'm thinking maybe sneak a Dark book into their things? I don't know how to fake conclusive evidence, yet, so the plan's still a work in progress."

"Hermione," Tom said patiently. "You are too intelligent to continue believably playing dumb with me. You know what I am asking."

"I do?"

"Hermione…" Tom's eyes were dark, and they held hers. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Oh. Keep you, I guess." She shrugged, uneasy. "It's not like I can let you go somewhere else – you might possess someone else and wreak other havoc. I'm the best person to 'keep watch' on you, so to speak, as I know what you really are and seem the most mentally protected."

Now Tom looked annoyed.

"You're not going to hand the diary in?" he demanded. "Not going to run to Professor Dumbledore and explain how the evil Lord Voldemort was possessing your whiny little friend?"

"What, and explain how I know about Horcruxes?" Hermione scoffed. "I'm sure _that_ would go over brilliantly."

"You're not going to destroy me?" Tom's eyes were slitted. "If you read about Herpo the Foul, you would know how."

"Destroy you?" Hermione was appalled. "No! _No_ , I wouldn't do that. Good _lord_ , Tom; what kind of a monster do you think I am?"

Tom stared at her while Hermione looked back, her hand to her chest. Had she really come off so cold as all that to him, that he'd think her capable of that?

"Let me explain this from my position," Tom said evenly. "I am a Horcrux; I have been manipulating the whingy first year to attack your classmates. You have discovered I am a Horcrux, made with the Darkest magic of all, and you are just going to _keep_ me?"

Hermione was quiet.

"The diary has a soul," she said. " _You_ are a soul. Part of one, at least. That makes you alive."

Something flitted across Tom's expression.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he told her, warningly. "You know I go on to try and rule the wizarding world."

Hermione shrugged.

"The other part of you became Lord Voldemort, maybe," she admitted. "But you? You're just Tom, stuck in a diary, still sentient, trapped for all of time."

"I am evil," he snarled.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I _know_ that."

"Then why do you not _destroy_ me?"

"Because, Tom," Hermione said patiently, "our moral codes are different. You may kill indiscriminately and do horrible things, but I _don't._ I can't knowingly _murder_ you just because of what the other part of you did."

"I have my own misdeeds," Tom reminded her, angry. "I am the Heir of Slytherin, and I have unleashed the monster—"

"And one person died fifty years ago," Hermione said quietly. "Don't get me wrong, Tom, that's a tragedy, but you've been imprisoned in a cell of your own making for the rest of your life. That seems rather a fitting punishment to me."

Tom looked at her for a long moment, the lava occasionally releasing a steam burst around them as it bubbled and flowed.

"You're really just going to keep me?" he said finally.

Hermione shrugged. "That's the plan."

Tom still looked skeptical, so Hermione took a deep breath.

"Back when we were both playing dumb and trying to manipulate each other in the diary, a lot of that was annoying and faking being a scared schoolgirl or you faking being a concerned boy, I'm sure, but some of it I rather enjoyed," she admitted. "Your jealousy over my coven was genuine, as was your excitement. When we talked about other things, too, like the bullying, I think true parts of you were peeking through. And... I _enjoyed_ talking to those parts of you."

"I know this doesn't really make sense, but…" She shrugged, helpless. "It was _nice,_ you know? And now that you know I know who you are, we can both drop the act and just talk openly, now. I think that'll be a lot more fun and more rewarding for the both of us, yes?"

Tom looked incredulous.

"You want to keep writing in the diary to me?" he said. "Even knowing who I am and what I've done?"

"Would you rather be alone in your Horcrux jail for time immemorial?" Hermione countered. "Even prisoners are permitted visitors from time to time."

Tom gave her a puzzled look, before he started to smirk.

"That phrase," he said. "You're using it wrong."

"What?"

"'Time immemorial'," he said, amused. "It means 'ancient beyond memory or record'."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose. "It doesn't work for the future tense?"

"No." Tom's eyes glittered. "Only going backwards."

"Well, drat," Hermione huffed. "What's the future counterpart, then?"

"'Forever', perhaps?" Tom suggested.

"That's not a counterpart," she said, annoyed. "That would share the same meaning as a future counterpart, but it's not one itself. The counterpart would be something like 'time memorial'. Only _that_ doesn't work, either – that has its _own_ meaning, so it would have to be…"

Hermione trailed off, muttering to herself as she turned over words in her mind. There was a strange sound from across the river, and her head jerked up.

Tom was laughing.

It wasn't a polite, charming laugh like she imagined him manipulating people with, nor was it a high, evil cackle of a megalomaniacal sociopath about to enact his doomsday plan. It was deep, and it sounded a little bit like a cackle, but it was _real_. It was a schoolboy's laugh at something funny.

Hermione stared at him, astonished.

He looked different, when he let his façade down.

When he settled down, his eyes fixed on her, he was smirking.

"Being annoyed about vocabulary while in a hellish construct with a scrap of Voldemort's soul," he commented. "Not quite what I expected from you, you know."

Hermione flushed. "I don't like it when I don't know something."

" _No..._ I couldn't tell…" His sarcasm was heavy, but his smirk remained. "If you truly want to continue chatting with me, Hermione, I would be delighted to chat back."

"Really?" She brightened.

"Yes." Tom gave her a look of grudging respect. "You're not wrong, you know – being sentient and trapped in a diary is… not exactly the result of what I thought making a Horcrux would be."

Hermione let a smile play around her lips. "No, I imagine not."

"Then, as the first true conversation between us since dropping our masks," Tom said, settling himself on his bank of the river and lying down on his side, propping his head up, " _how_ did you figure out I was a Horcrux? I researched for _years_ , and even I didn't truly know what they were until the Fall of my 6th year."

"Oh, I—err—" Hermione's face flushed. "I may have had an advantage, there. I have a trunk of some of Lord Voldemort's books that I'm supposed to be keeping watch over for him until he returns. There was a biography of Herpo the Foul in there."

 _"Really?"_ Tom Riddle's eyes glittered, and his smirk grew wider. "Hermione Granger, you just become more and more interesting as time goes on."

Hermione looked away, face red. "Pleased to be of service, I suppose."

Tom laughed. "Now, Hermione, tell me; how does a 2nd year witch with muggle parents manage to get her hands on the Dark Lord's library?"

"It wasn't his _library,_ " Hermione objected. "It was just some of his books that he'd managed to re-find last year while he was possessing Quirrell, our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor…"

They continued talking long into the night. Tom's sense of humor was sharp and cruel, but Hermione retorted and gave as good as she got. He was interesting, too, and very informative – he knew a lot about ghosts, as part of his research on souls, and she was fascinated to hear about it. When Hermione finally realized that she had no concept of time passing, Tom acquiesced easily enough, and she fell back onto her bed, slightly dizzy, before she glanced at the clock.

It was half past two o'clock in the morning.

Hermione cleared off her coverlet and collapsed back into bed without undressing, suddenly exhausted. By force of habit she checked her magic, seeing what she had left to try and expend. To her surprise, there was very little left, maybe just a quarter or a fifth in her pool, the part she never seemed to get past and fully empty anymore, what with her core constantly and frantically regenerating.

Talking to Tom had certainly been a more productive way to empty her magic than levitating her four-poster had been, she sleepily mused, eyes already half-closed. She'd have to remember it again in the future.


	156. Lockhart's Valentine's Day, Part 1

Valentine's Day caught Hermione entirely by surprise. It was only through Pansy's loud, excited babble and jumper with hearts on it that Hermione remembered, and she had to sprint up to the owlery to send obligation chocolates to her male friends. Valentine's Day might be stupid, but she wasn't about to mess up a wizarding custom now.

Given their last-second nature, it was a box of chocolate frogs she'd gotten at Christmas tied to owls and sent off individually with hastily-charmed tags as her valentines this year. Hermione shooed the owls off, sending them out of the Owlery, before racing back down the tower to the Great Hall, hoping to dodge teachers – students still weren't supposed to go anywhere alone.

There was a crowd of students at the entryway to the Great Hall, pushing to get in, and Hermione hastily blended in, finding Tracey quickly.

"What's going on?" she asked, craning her neck.

Tracey was laughing.

"Lockhart," she said. "Just Lockhart."

When the Slytherins finally filed into the Great Hall, Hermione's eyes went wide – the walls were covered with large, lurid pink flowers, and there was heart-shaped confetti falling from the ceiling as if it were rain. The rumors that Lockhart was planning something to improve student morale suddenly clicked into place, and she groaned.

"I may vomit," Hermione declared, and Tracey giggled.

The Slytherins all looked collectively disgusted at the spectacle, though there were some smirks of amusement. Lockhart was wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, and the other teachers looked as if they were physically restraining themselves from violence. Lockhart was waving his arms for silence, beaming at them all.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" he called out into the hall, and the students quieted. "And may I thank the forty-five people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands, and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen, surly-looking…

"What are those?" Hermione hissed at Millie, who looked surprised.

"Dwarfs," she said. "Though they look none too pleased."

The dwarfs were wearing golden wings and carrying harps, all twelve of them looking very resentful indeed.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines!"

"Wait, _what?_ " Daphne said, paying attention suddenly, her eyes wide. " _They_ are going to be delivering our valentines? Publicly?"

"Lockhart must have redirected the mail," Hermione said. She exchanged a horrified glance with Daphne. Pansy tossed her head and sniffed.

"What's the big deal with that?" she said, haughty. "Getting valentines at breakfast is public as well."

"Yes, but you can't _hide_ it when you get something in the middle of class like you might with breakfast," Hermione said, gritting her teeth. "It's all well and good if you get small, appropriate trinkets, but what if Crabbe sent you a necklace that you got in the middle of Charms?"

Pansy froze, and Hermione gave her a curt smile.

"Exactly," she said. "Not so easy if you suddenly have to spurn someone in public, is it?"

Blaise was smirking, she noticed, and Hermione turned to him.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, and Blaise only grinned.

"Do you think his mail ward is still working?" he asked her.

Hermione looked at him, slowly considering, before a mischievous smirk spread across her own face.

"If I were Lockhart, I'd leave it up all day," she said casually. "Wouldn't want to miss anything, after all."

Lockhart was going on about asking Professor Flitwick about Entrancing Enchantments, but Blaise and Hermione were exchanging sneaky glances, both eyeing their schedules to see how much time they had before their first class.

* * *

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers. It was clear that Lockhart was unfamiliar with the pureblood traditions around Valentine's Day that had developed – dwarf after dwarf stomped into Transfiguration to give the boys in Slytherin individual chocolates, while those in Ravenclaw seemed to only be getting _special_ valentines, fancy ones sent individually. Professor McGonagall was talking extremely loudly, ignoring the dwarfs as best she could as she taught, and Hermione had a moment of empathy for her. How obnoxious, to have to teach in these conditions. No wonder she had been furious with Lockhart.

After Transfiguration, the dwarfs had seemed to have gotten the obligation chocolates out of the way, and they came back, this time carrying cards as students were changing classes.

"Draco Malfoy?" shouted a grim-looking dwarf. He elbowed people out of the way to get to Draco, who had frozen between Crabbe and Goyle, looking alarmed. "I've got a musical message to deliver to Draco Malfoy in person."

He twanged the harp in a threatening way, and Draco paled.

"I'm—I'm him," he admitted. The dwarf advanced, plucking his strings, and Blaise and Hermione both exchanged a glance, trying very hard not to snicker.

" _I_ have a musical valentine for Draco Malfoy," another dwarf declared, stalking towards the other dwarf angrily. The first dwarf glared.

"I got here first," he said warningly, and the second dwarf grumbled but fell silent.

"'m goin' next," he muttered.

"Now then," the first dwarf said, clearing his throat and twanging his harp. "Here is your singing valentine:

 _With eyes as silver as a sickle under the moon,  
and hair as shining as a galleon at noon,  
you pranced through the halls and into my life,  
upturning everything and bringing nothing but strife. _

_How can I study when it's for you I long?  
How is my heart so weak while you seem so strong?  
I crash in the halls and walk into doors.  
I daydream all day what it'd be like to be yours. _

_I wish I could tell you, but tradition says I must not.  
I keep it secret, though you plague my every thought.  
I hope for a sign, I hope for a glance, I hope for a ring,  
Because it's only you, Draco, who makes my heart sing._

Hermione and Blaise watched as a crowd gathered to watch the spectacle. The dwarf's singing was horrible, the cadence and melody only barely there throughout the song. Though Draco's face had been pale, as the song went on, his cheeks flushed, and he looked around curiously. Hermione wondered if he was looking for a clue as to who might have sent it.

"How did you come up with that in the ten minutes before class?" Blaise hissed, and Hermione smirked.

"Lots of practice," she whispered back. "Coming up with bad poetry is easier than rhyming incantations."

Blaise snickered. " _He_ doesn't seem to think it's bad."

"Then he clearly has no taste." Hermione folded her arms and smirked. "But that might be even _more_ fun."

As the song finished, the first dwarf stalked off, and the second approached.

"Draco Malfoy," he said. "Right. Here's your singing valentine:

 _Draco Malfoy, you're really fit  
And you know it - you're such a flirt  
But despite your arrogance and all of it,  
I really want you under my skirt._

At this, the crowd roared with laughter, and Draco's face burned bright red in embarrassment. Blaise and Hermione were laughing in the back along with the rest of them when Tracey and Millie found them.

"Is _that_ what you two ran off to do this morning?" Tracey asked, giggling. "Oh, he's going to be so _mad_ when he finds out it was you two!"

" _If_ he finds out," Blaise stressed, and Tracey waved her hand dismissively.

" _When_ ," she insisted. "He'll never rest until he knows who sent him that first one. Did you see the hearts he practically had in his eyes?"

"We sent them with affection," Blaise insisted, his eyes glinting. "We know how Draco _loves_ to be admired publicly, and we thought he'd appreciate the attention."

The four were still laughing as they went off to class.


	157. Lockhart's Valentine's Day, Part 2

History was full of whispers of valentines and interrupting dwarfs. The musical poems seemed done at this point, and more serious gifts were being delivered. Blaise looked surprised and touched by the chocolate heart Hermione had sent him (she'd had to buy one off of Tracey, who had extras), and Ernie Macmillan was looking very smug as a large candy display was delivered to him, Hannah Abbot's face burning in embarrassment. Hermione noted Goyle looked fairly heart-broken, and her heart went out to him. He may fancy Hannah, but it was clear she didn't know or wasn't interested back.

Pansy got a large assortment of chocolates from a secret admirer, as well as a smaller, more sedate chocolate heart assortment, also from a secret admirer. She looked surprised but pleased, and Hermione wondered if she'd sent herself the larger one but hadn't expected the smaller.

The biggest gift was one sent to Daphne: she'd received a gorgeous set of dress robes from Cassius Warrington, causing a murmur throughout the class. Clothing was a gift of courting intent, and to receive it so publicly… everyone would know, now. Daphne's face blushed prettily but she didn't seem upset in the slightest, and Hermione remembered her remarks about Cassius' intent to petition for her hand on the train.

During the last class of the Day, Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors, Lockhart was beaming.

"I figured today we'd just take a relaxing day to enjoy it!" he told them all. "I will tell you stories of all the interesting encounters I've had with Valentine's Day in the past, and we can all discuss how well today went!"

Lockhart was the only teacher of the day to not seem bothered in the slightest when the dwarfs interrupted. He urged them to come in and welcomed them with wide smiles, stopping everything so everyone could watch as each valentine was received or gift was unveiled.

Tracey was given an enchanted chocolate fox from Adrian Pucey, which was cute and licked its own paws. Millie got a set of chocolate roses from Crabbe. And Draco got a large, extremely fancy set of chocolates in an enormous heart from "a dear friend". Even from across the room, Hermione could recognize Pansy's large loopy scrawl on the note.

She'd forgotten entirely about her own valentines until they came. First was a chocolate cupid from Blaise, and an assortment of small chocolates from the boys in her class, all delivered by one surly, overworked-looking dwarf. Mid-class, another dwarf barged in, carrying a large box that he _thunked_ down on Hermione's desk ungracefully, and Hermione's eyes went wide.

 _From Anthony Goldstein_ , the tag read.

"What a valentine, Miss Granger!" Lockhart exclaimed, excited. "You simply must open it up!"

With a sigh, Hermione opened the box.

Inside was what looked like white silken fabric, and Hermione wondered if Anthony had sent her another cloak as she pulled it out, only for it to hang flat. A murmur went around the class, shocked faces on her classmates, and Hermione tried to look like she had some idea of what she'd just pulled out.

"Are those _sheets?_ " Harry asked aloud, and Hermione closed her eyes and blessed him for asking the awkward questions that she publicly couldn't do.

"Those are _marriage sheets_ , Potter," Draco sneered at him. "See the runes embroidered on the edges?"

There _were_ runes embroidered on the edges, Hermione noticed absently. She only recognized the ones for 'love' and 'fertility', but she expected the others were similar such blessings.

"What a statement!" Lockhart said, clapping his hands. "It seems like someone already wants you in their marriage bed!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and neatly packed the box back up without a word, clearly _not_ accepting the gift, and scrawled something on the lid as she spelled it shut.

When the next dwarf came by, she interrupted him as he marched towards his target, throwing an arm across the aisle and forcing him to pause.

"Would you please deliver this to Anthony Goldstein?" she asked sweetly, gesturing to the box on her desk. "I believe this was misdelivered."

The dwarf looked highly suspicious, but he grabbed the box and stalked off. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, and her classmates' faces rested somewhat. Even without knowing the full gamut of pureblood courting customs, Hermione knew it was _not_ appropriate to send someone marriage _bed sheets_ in _public_. Her spurning of him was practically _necessary_ to maintain her honor, and she felt almost grateful that he'd made it easy to turn him down this year.

Two more dwarfs marched in toward the end of class, one bearing a parchment and thin box, the other bearing a small square package. To Hermione's embarrassment, both dwarfs approached her desk. There was some sort of silent glaring battle going on for dominance between the two until one grunted and moved out of the way, allowing the parchment-bearing dwarf the right of way.

"I have a poetry valentine," the dwarf said gruffly, and Hermione shot Blaise a dark look, but he held his hands up in innocence.

"By all means!" Lockhart beamed, and the dwarf cleared his throat.

"Here is your poetry valentine:

 _When in the chronicle of wasted time  
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,  
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme  
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,  
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,  
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,  
I see their antique pen would have express'd  
Even such a beauty as you master now.  
So all their praises are but prophecies  
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;  
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,  
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:  
For we, which now behold these present days,  
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise._

Hermione blushed, ducking her eyes from meeting anyone else's. She recognized the cadence of the verse, and it was obvious to anyone familiar with Shakespeare who had written it. Her classmates seemed entirely unaware of the origin, though, judging from the surprised murmurs over the quality of the verse.

It was also incredibly apparent, even without signature, who had sent it to her.

The dwarf was unusually good with reading it compared to the other dwarfs of the day. Hermione wondered if Cedric had spent the day finding the perfect dwarf to read it to her, or if it was just because this one wasn't being _sung._

"And here," the dwarf finished. He pushed a rose into her hand, light pink and lavender, along with the written-out poem, and Hermione flushed and thanked him.

"How beautiful!" Lockhart exclaimed. "That was glorious! You must have quite the admirer, Miss Granger!"

Hermione felt her face burn red.

"Who sent it?" Pansy wanted to know.

"It wasn't signed," Theo told her.

"That's not what I asked," Pansy huffed. "Look at her face: she _knows_ who sent it to her, signed or not."

Hermione felt her face blush even further as her classmates turned to her, looking. Blaise looked surprised and suspicious, while Draco's eyes had narrowed into slits.

" _Do_ you know who sent you that, Miss Granger?" Lockhart asked, looking excited. "Surely, such a romantic gesture deserves a response!"

"Oh look," Millie said loudly. "There's still one more."

There was; the second dwarf had gotten distracted while the first dwarf had been reciting, and he had moved to the back of the classroom where he had been chipping away at a bronze bust of Lockhart with his harp. Suddenly feeling the attention on him, he cleared his throat and marched over to Hermione, thrusting the square box at her.

"Here," he said. He gave her an unfriendly look. "No singing."

Hermione took the box, expressing her thanks. She turned it over carefully, listening, before opening it.

The box held a glittering glass butterfly. It looked almost like a monarch, but with green wings instead of orange, and as Hermione examined it, she recognized the wing pattern as that of a malachite butterfly.

To her surprise, once the butterfly was fully removed from the box, it began to fly and flutter about her on its own without so much as a tap of her wand.

The class murmured as it flew around her and eventually landed on her shoulder, fluttering its wings, and Hermione's face burned.

"What a pretty gift," Lockhart said, looking somewhat puzzled. "Well, so long as you like it…"

The butterfly took off to fly around her again, glittering green wings flapping around, and Hermione remembered the glass monarch butterfly she had received anonymously the year previously – one that had sat _still_ unless she tapped it with her wand.

She suspected she'd have needed to tap this one with her wand too, if she'd gotten it a month ago.

Neville's face was red and he was decidedly not looking at her, while Daphne and Pansy looked somewhat vaguely impressed. Draco, Blaise, and Theo were all looking at her, something knowing in their gazes, though Hermione refused to meet them, and Tracey looked on with amusement as Millie's eyes looked at her with sympathy.

Information for the sender and a bauble for the receiver, all in one – a clever, _Slytherin_ gift, to be sure.

Suddenly that beautiful monarch she'd received last year didn't seem quite so beautiful anymore.


	158. Lockhart's Valentine's Day, Part 3

**A/N: Chapter updated to reflect accurate information and correct a mistaken fact. Homosexuality was illegal on the Isle of Man until 1994, not in all of Britain.**

* * *

The butterfly on her shoulders refused to go back in the box. With Tracey's help, they coaxed it into sitting on a hair clip, which she clipped part of her hair back with. It still occasionally leapt free and fluttered around her, but at least it was more subdued and subtle this way.

Annoyed at the obvious intention behind the gift (pureblood tradition or not, her menstrual cycle was _her business_ ), Hermione defiantly wore the rose she'd received in her hair next to it. At least _that_ gift had been given honestly and directly with forthright intention, not a hidden secondary meaning behind the gift.

At dinner, the decorations had been taken down. Lockhart looked mournful while McGonagall and Snape both looked extremely pleased. Hermione wondered if they had competed to see who could destroy the most.

Despite the lack of decorations, Valentine's day gossip still continued. Harry Potter had gotten an embarrassing singing valentine in the hall as well, something about 'his eyes as green as a fresh-pickled toad'. Hermione wondered if whomever had sent it had written bad poetry on purpose as a joke, or if it was a genuine admirer with absolutely no skill for romantic verse.

Blaise kept nagging her through dinner, prodding.

"You _know_ who sent you the rose," he said. "Who was it? C'mon, tell."

"It's not your _business_ ," Hermione told him, giving him a look. "It's just a rose."

Tracey and Millie were looking amused, both of them knowing who had sent the rose but sworn to secrecy. Theo looked mildly intrigued, and Draco was very clearly eavesdropping while trying not to be obvious about it.

"A rose those colors is not ' _just a rose_ '," Blaise told her, raising an eyebrow. "That's a very clear declaration of intent. Do you know what it means?"

"Of course I know what it means," Hermione said coolly.

"And you're still wearing it anyway?"

Hermione raised her chin and gave him a haughty look. "Why wouldn't I? It's quite the compliment."

Blaise looked surprised and taken aback, and Tracey laughed.

"How many of those have you gotten now?" she teased. "There was one at Christmas, then this one, so that's two…"

There was a grunt. "Three."

Hermione looked up in surprise at Goyle, who had joined the conversation. He looked at Blaise and Tracey who were staring at him, and he shrugged.

"Three," he grunted again. "I was with her when she got one of those one evening."

Hermione glared daggers at him, and Goyle flinched.

"Who gave it to her?" Blaise pressed, but Goyle shook his head.

"She swore me to secrecy," Goyle said. "It was a big deal, getting rid of it so no one in Slytherin would see. Didn't want to cause a fuss."

" _Some_ things are _supposed_ to be made a fuss over," Blaise said, emphatic, but Goyle continued to refuse.

"Not my story to share."

Blaise looked annoyed now, while Draco looked downright murderous.

" _Tell me,_ Goyle," he pressed. "Who gave it to her?"

Goyle looked to Hermione for help, but she merely regarded him with raised eyebrows. Goyle swallowed hard before looking away.

"Can't tell," he said. "She swore me to secrecy. I can't tell."

"She _swore_ you to secrecy?" Blaise said. "So you literally _can't_ tell us, then, if there was a secrecy bond."

"Clever," Draco said grudgingly, and a flash of relief flitted over Goyle's face.

Hermione was surprised. She hadn't sworn Goyle to secrecy formally, with magic, but Goyle had been clever to imply that she had. His gaze had almost been terrified of her for a moment, there; as if he feared Hermione's wrath more than that of Draco.

"How do _you_ know who gave her one?" Blaise was demanding of Tracey, who was having far too much fun denying him the information he wanted.

"Girl talk," she said, smirking. "Privileged information. No boys allowed."

"Millie?" Blaise pleaded, but Millie sat like a stone, unmoved.

"Not your business," she said, folding her arms. "If Hermione doesn't want to share, that's her business."

"Someone declaring intent is supposed to be _known_ ," Blaise argued.

"Aha, but that's _not_ declared intent, is it?" Tracey challenged, her eyes glinting. "I see a flower – a romantic message, sure, but a flower. It's not clothing. It's not jewelry. So there's not a formal intent declared."

Hermione wondered at the distinction. Cedric had openly told her he liked her and wanted to date her, which was definitely an _intent_. It wasn't a formal declaration of courting intent with the end goal of betrothal, though, which Hermione suspected was the difference. Taking someone out on dates was one thing, apparently; formally courting them was another.

...did Slytherins even _do_ just 'dating'?

Hermione was infinitely glad he'd only done the former. She had enough trouble dealing with the stupid gestures Anthony made; she wouldn't want to have to deal with _another -_ though she might, now that this stupid butterfly wouldn't leave her alone, obnoxiously indicating to everyone that she'd come 'of an age'.

"That reminds me…" Hermione murmured to herself.

"Reminds you of what?" Blaise wanted to know, but Hermione shook her head and stood up.

"I need to take care of something," she said, excusing herself. "I'll see you soon."

She went over to the Ravenclaw table, where Luna looked up at her with a serene smile.

"Hermione," she said. "Congratulations on your successful chrysalization. You're a woman now, you know."

Hermione's face flamed.

"Thank you, Luna," she grit out through her teeth. As much as she didn't want to think about everyone knowing she'd gotten her period, Luna's words made her wonder what horror an _un_ successful chrysalization might look like – endometriosis, perhaps? "Anthony, might I have a word?"

Anthony rose with a grin. "Of course."

His grin was confident and charming, and Hermione led him to an alcove just outside the Great Hall. That was the hard part, she reflected; Anthony, as pushy as his gestures had always been, _was_ actually charming and fun to be around.

"How can I help you, Hermione?" Anthony asked her.

Hermione sighed.

"Anthony, you sent me _marriage sheets_ ," she said. "These over-the-top gestures have got to stop."

Anthony adopted a hurt expression. "Hermione, I just—"

"Anthony, I'm not blind, and I'm not an idiot," she told him, interrupting. "I know why you make such big gestures towards me."

Anthony paused. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do." Hermione looked up at him. "Everyone knows your family would be in a better position if you married me, so your surface-level intent is obvious to everyone. People know you're making courting-not-courting gestures towards me, which is your goal."

"You're so _suspicious,_ Hermione. I'm hurt. If I'm making _courting offers_ toward you," Anthony argued, "it's because _I want to court you._ "

"Do you really want to court me?" Hermione challenged. "Or do you want to court Michael Corner?"

The air between them froze. A heavy silence hung in the air.

Anthony stood very still.

"What," he said quietly, his eyes not meeting hers, "did you just say?"

Hermione was silent for a moment. She knew she had to navigate this carefully.

"I see how you look at him," Hermione said quietly. "I see how you light up when he pays attention to you, how you glance at him for approval. I know that that sort of thing is forbidden among purebloods – only done in secret arrangements, behind closed doors. And I know that he doesn't know."

Anthony stood stock-still, looking at her with shaded eyes.

"What would you have done," Hermione wanted to know, "if I had accepted one of your gifts?"

"Courted you," Anthony said immediately. "Hermione, I _do_ like you. You have to believe—"

"I believe you," Hermione said. "But I also believe you leaned _heavily_ into that so people would believe you fancied me, and no one would see or notice that you fancied Michael Corner more."

Anthony was silent. Hermione bit her lip.

"You can continue to make gestures towards me," she told him quietly. "Clothing, preferably. Jewelry that I would have to turn down might cause too much of a stir. But Anthony, _believe me_ , the Slytherins pay attention to who is giving gifts of intent to whom. You don't need to send _marriage sheets_ for people to know you're vying for my affections. I had to open them in the middle of the _classroom_ , Anthony – it was practically _lewd_."

At this, Anthony flushed.

"I didn't know Lockhart was going to pull this nonsense," he muttered. "I thought you'd open them at the breakfast table, exclaim over them with your girlfriends, and hide them away."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Anthony blew out a breath.

"Alright, fine," he said. "I'll tone it down. But you're okay with… with knowing? And not telling anyone?"

He looked anxious, nervousness written in the creases of his face. Hermione considered for a moment, regarding him.

"My mother has a sister," she said finally. "Margaret. She's two years younger than my mum."

Anthony looked at her curiously.

"Aunt Margaret never married," Hermione said. "In university, she moved in with one of her best friends, Blair. They're still roommates, even to this day, twenty-some years later. Once, we went to visit them at their house. I was young and went exploring; I found they only had one bed."

Anthony's eyes widened in comprehension.

"This sort of thing is still illegal in some places muggle Britain, and it's not looked on kindly in most others," she told him quietly. "So people are very careful about what they say and what they share. My aunt has a _roommate_ , not a _girlfriend_. But when people are among safe people, there's a sort of knowing twinkle in their eye as they say it. But it's still not safe to be said."

"So you're… fine, with knowing?" Anthony said. He looked around furtively. "Knowing that… I fancy both guys and girls?" he got out all in a rush.

Hermione shrugged.

"My mum explained it as 'we love who we love'," she said simply. "Some of us just have a bit of a more complicated road than others." She offered him a tentative smile. "You've got a harder road, I'm afraid. But I'm not going to tell anyone. It's not my news to share."

An expression came over Anthony's face. It wasn't quite relief, which Hermione would have expected; it was something more akin to relief mixed with awe and wonder.

"You're really something else, Hermione," Anthony said finally. He gave her a soft smile, vulnerable. "Thank you."

Hermione smiled back. "Of course."

He moved forward and kissed her forehead, affectionate.

"I'm still going to send you courting gestures," he told her, his eyes regaining their glimmer of mischief. "And you can even accept one - I _would_ like to court you, Hermione." He grinned. "But... I'll tone it down with the sheets and jewelry."

"That's all I ask," Hermione said, laughing. "Thank you, Anthony."

"No," Anthony said. His eyes held hers. "Thank _you_."


	159. Considering

**A/N: We have gained many new readers! Welcome! I update Tuesdays and Fridays, scene by scene. Reading it 'live' is a different experience than marathoning it in three days; if you find you dislike reading it chapter by chapter, many readers come back and catch up at the end of the month in one go.  
**

 **If you are a reader who prefers to read in chunks, I would suggest coming back for chapter 165, and then again for 174 perhaps, if you want to read in small plot arcs and chunks.**

 **And if you are a reader who only likes the canon-plot related bits, read the first half of this chapter, skip the second half and the next chapter entirely, and come back for 161 next Friday. :P**

* * *

Time passed, and the winter began to thaw. Hermione was grateful for it – she had to keep finding excuses to go outside with someone to steady her magic with the earth elemental inside of her until Luna was ready for the coven bond. It was much easier to coax a friend outside when it wasn't freezing out.

Blaise seemed to realize something was going on with her constant requests for a stroll, but he didn't pry, to her relief – Snape had forbidden her to discuss what they had done with anyone, and she hadn't quite figured out a way to talk around it with her coven yet. Instead, Blaise seemed to take satisfaction in the fact that he was the one she came to most often – Hermione only went to Tracey or Millie if Blaise couldn't be found.

Blaise was the most fun to talk to, though. Tracey liked to tease her about Cedric, and though Millie's mini-lectures on pureblood customs were helpful, Blaise's mind worked more like hers. He seemed to assume that Hermione had _always_ planned to take down the monster and save the school herself.

"I didn't think it would be a basilisk, though," he admitted. "You could have defeated pretty much any other kind of snake and saved the school easily, and it would have helped establish your name. But a _basilisk…_ even _Snape_ would cower to face _that_."

Hermione was loath to agree, but she did; if she was truly going to accept the risk of going after the basilisk to save the school, she was going to need a _very_ good plan before she made her move. But at least she had _time_ – with the diary in her possession, and Tom unable to possess her, there was no more chance of attacks.

Hermione studied, Hermione did her homework, Hermione talked with her friends. Life was almost normal, if one forgot you had to take a friend with you to the toilet every time you needed to go and the undercurrent of anxiety running through them all. With no further attacks, the security measures hadn't strengthened, but they hadn't lessened either, and Hermione was eager for them to be gone.

Tom Riddle was interesting to talk to, but he hadn't been terribly helpful in coming up with a plan to handle the Chamber of Secrets and its monster. They had taken to speaking in the odd fiery mindscape of Hermione's mind; using it helped exhaust Hermione's magic each night, and it was much faster than writing everything out. It also helped ensure that the nuances of body language and tone of voice weren't lost.

"I don't _want_ the basilisk killed," Tom said flatly, folding his arms. "She's an ancient guardian. She should be _honored_."

"She's an _extraordinarily deadly creature,"_ Hermione argued. "With her around, uncontrolled, students will _always_ be in danger. It's not like there's a _safe_ use for a basilisk."

Tom rolled his eyes. "So?"

He was _much_ more helpful in developing a plan to frame all the Heir of Slytherin business on someone.

"You'll need it to be obvious, but plausible with the evidence," he told her. "I got away with framing Hagrid because people were so desperate to believe. This time, with Dumbledore already suspicious, you're going to have a much harder burden of proof."

"How am I going to make it seem like someone is the Heir without your diary?" Hermione said. "Without you possessing a person, how could they become the Heir?"

"You just have to make it seem like they were _acting_ as the Heir, even if they weren't," Tom said, eyes glinting. "People will spin their own stories around the evidence you give them. You just have to make it plausible – their imaginations will do the rest."

"I'll need to plant Dark magic on whoever I pick," she said. "Or something of Voldemort's, really, that could feasibly be used to open the chamber or control the basilisk." She gave Tom a considering glance. "…can you bleed?"

Tom looked affronted. "I beg your pardon?"

"Can you bleed?" she repeated patiently. "For that matter, if you _did_ bleed, would wizards have a way to tell that it was Voldemort's blood? If they don't, it'd be pointless anyway."

Tom paused.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Certainly not here – this is a mental construct. But if I could manifest a body of my own…"

"And that's possible?" Hermione asked dryly. "How do you do that – steal someone's soul?"

"Well, yes, if I wanted a permanent one," he admitted. "But if I only needed a temporary one, one that could dissipate and send me back to the diary… that can be done with just magic."

"Oh?" She was intrigued. "What kind of magic?"

"No, Hermione." Tom's gaze was steady. "Just _magic._ "

Hermione swallowed hard. "Oh."

The idea of purposefully draining her magic into the diary each night to save up enough so Tom could manifest a body was an idea that required further examination. It was certainly _possible_ – she carried the diary practically everywhere with her now as it was, to make sure Tom couldn't possess anyone new, and it'd be a small change to use the diary to drain her magic into instead of levitating furniture until she couldn't anymore.

However…

Anything that could _temporarily manifest the Dark Lord_ , in Hermione's opinion, required at _least_ a week or two of careful consideration and forethought. She wasn't about to barrel into something as dangerous as _this_ without being very careful and deliberate about it.

* * *

While Hermione was still thinking about her plans for handling the basilisk, she called the draft of her coven together in an old classroom one weekend. With such unsurety over what she would do, Hermione wanted to control and plan out the things she _was_ sure about, and formalizing the pact of her coven was a good start.

"Is everyone still on board with this?" she asked. "Does everyone still want to be in the coven?"

"Yes," Blaise said immediately. "Yes, yes, and yes. Don't you dare make one without me."

Hermione laughed. "Duly noted, Blaise. You want to be in the coven."

"I'd like to." Luna smiled at her. "I'm looking forward to it, I think."

"Luna's still in," Hermione said, smiling back at her. "That's three."

Harry looked puzzled, while Susan looked amused.

"I thought we already _were_ a coven," Harry said. "What's the difference between what we're doing now, and what we'd do as a coven?"

"What we would _do_ would be much the same," Hermione admitted. "We'd still be doing ritual magic. But part of what makes a coven a coven is they bind themselves to the pact of the coven and to each other. It lets them share magic during rituals and in times of great need, and it strengthens the power of what the coven is capable of."

Harry's eyes went wide. "That's… that sounds like a lot."

"Think of it like arithmetic," Hermione said, suddenly inspired. "Right now in ritual, all our magic is added together. But when we're bonded as a coven, it's multiplied."

"Wow. Okay." Harry looked over at Blaise. "So we'd be able to do much bigger things?"

"If we wanted to," Hermione said, shrugging. "I don't have anything pre-planned, but we certainly could."

Harry considered for a long moment, before nodding slowly.

"I like what we've done so far," he said. "And… I'd like to continue to be involved." He glanced around at them all, giving them a small, tentative smile. "Binding magic sounds a bit dodgy, but if I'm going to bind mine to anyone else's, it'd be to you."

"Oh, Harry—!"

Touched, Hermione ran forward and hugged Harry, who laughed and hugged her back.

"Potter expresses doubts and gets a hug, but I get nothing for being sure?" Blaise complained dryly. "Not fair, if you ask me."

Hermione laughed and pulled away from Harry. "Fine. Hugs all around."

She went and hugged Luna who hummed as she hugged her back, clinging slightly to the older girl. Hermine smiled and tucked Luna's hair behind her ear as she pulled away, and Luna smiled up at her.

"I like your hugs," she said simply. "They feel nice."

"Hermione hugs are the best," Blaise agreed, snagging Hermione's hand and tugging her into him. She laughed, caught-off guard from losing her balance, and Blaise grinned as he wrapped his arms around her. Hermione wrapped her arms around him back, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. Blaise's arms always felt nice around her.

When she went to pull away, she found Blaise's fingers locked behind her, trapping her in.

"You can let go now, Blaise," Hermione laughed.

"Nothing doing," Blaise said, his eyes flashing with mischief. "Susan hasn't answered yet. Until someone else requires a hug, there's no need to end mine."

Hermione rolled her eyes and squirmed inside of his arms, turning around to look at Susan.

"I realize that you've only been in one ritual with us so far, so this is probably the hardest for you," Hermione said, ignoring the fact Blaise was draping himself over her shoulders like a stole. "If you don't want to—"

"Hermione, you're brilliant, but you're really dumb sometimes, you know?" Susan's tone was exasperated, but she was smiling. "I've _always_ wanted to join a coven. _Always,_ ever since I heard about my mother's. And with all of you…" She gave them all a smile, glancing around. "You've been so welcoming right from the start, to say nothing of you helping me with my glasses."

"So… that's a yes?" Harry pushed, and Susan laughed.

"Yes, that's a yes," she said, her eyes bright behind her turquoise lenses. "I'd love to be in the coven."

"You have to let Hermione go now, Blaise," Luna said, and Blaise groaned as he let go of Hermione, Hermione laughing as she went to Susan.

"Then, welcome," Hermione said, hugging Susan, and Susan hugged her back enthusiastically.

"Thank you," Susan said honestly, her eyes shining up at her. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Hermione smiled back at her as she moved back to her place.

"Before we can bond as a coven, we have to make sure everyone's magic has reached a set maturity level so we don't accidentally stunt ourselves. This means we can't formally bond quite yet," Hermione said, glancing over at Luna, "but we'll be able to soon."

"Soon," Luna agreed. "Most likely by Beltane, I'm sure."

"The coven bonding ritual that we'll do is a set ritual that everyone does to make a coven," Hermione explained. "It mostly involves us bonding ourselves together and binding ourselves to a covenant and sharing our magic and power. It's said to be an incredible, transcendent experience, so we'll want to make sure we can all sneak away for the entire night for it. It will take a while."

Blaise and Susan looked excited, practically vibrating with anticipation. Luna was smiling serenely, while Harry just looked interested.

"After we all bond together as a coven, we'll be buzzing with magic and potential leftover from the binding," Hermione said. "We'll want to do a ritual soon after, if not immediately after – something big and meaningful, to cement the moment in our minds and make an impact in the world."

"And use up the extra magic," Luna added.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that too."

Blaise looked excited.

"So this can be literally _anything?_ " he said.

"We're still just children," Susan pointed out. "We'll have a limited amount of power available to us, buzzing with bonding magic or not."

"What level of power are we talking, then?" Harry asked. "Calling fairies? Summoning a dragon? Raising the dead?"

"Raising the dead is necromancy, Potter," Blaise shot at him. "It's very Dark and illegal. The dead must be let to rest."

Harry held up his hands. "I was only asking! I wasn't _suggesting!_ "

But Hermione was looking at Blaise consideringly, an idea slowly percolating in her mind.

"Not all necromancy is illegal, though," she said thoughtfully. "And as you said: the dead must be let to rest."


	160. Cedric in the Library

Hermione was researching in the library one evening after classes, her mind whirring with different topics as she buried herself in the back of the library. She had a large pile of books on her table and had her nose firmly buried in one when she was interrupted.

" _Creatures of the Subterranean?_ "

Hermione looked up to see Cedric Diggory looking down at her, looking amused. She flushed.

"I was curious," she said, as Cedric sat down across the small table from her.

"About subterranean creatures?" He grinned. "You're not even in Care of Magical Creatures yet, Hermione."

"Well, no." Her cheeks were red. "I was curious about dwarfs, and this is just what the library's card catalog recommended. I didn't even know the wizarding world _had_ dwarfs until Lockhart brought them in."

Cedric looked thoughtful.

"I know that they're a thing, but I couldn't rightly tell you what they are or where they live," he admitted. "Just that I see them occasionally in Diagon Alley."

"That's exactly why I wanted to research," Hermione told him emphatically. " _No one_ seemed to know."

Cedric raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk.

"So?" he said, challenging. "What have you learned?"

"They live underground and mostly work in tunnels, mining," Hermione said. "They live in a clan-based structure. They're very strong for their size, apparently, and they use axes whenever possible." She paused. "Reading between the lines, I'm guessing that they live wherever the goblins live and exist alongside them. Goblins certainly aren't going to do their own mining if they don't have to, and dwarfs live underground too."

Cedric looked thoughtful.

"All of this, just from Valentine's Day?" he asked.

"I don't like it when I don't know something," Hermione said, smiling even as she rolled her eyes. "With the library nearby, it was easy enough to fix."

Cedric paused.

"So," he said, then he grinned. "Valentine's Day was certainly interesting this year, wasn't it?"

"Merlin alive, don't remind me," Hermione groaned, thunking her head on the table. "What a _disaster_. I don't think any of the professors actually _taught_ anything."

Cedric laughed.

"Slytherin had the worst of it, I think," he said. "I had classes with each house that day – the one with Slytherin was constantly getting interrupted for all manner of small gifts."

"There's a custom to get small chocolates of obligation for your friends of the opposite sex," Hermione said. " _Don't_ ask me how it popped up – Valentine's Day isn't really a wizarding holiday, so I have _no_ idea how customs around it developed – but it _did_ result in an _obscene_ amount of interruptions."

Cedric grinned.

"Aw, it couldn't have been _that_ bad," he teased.

Hermione scoffed.

"It _was_. Consider: in my class, there are five boys and five girls. Each of the girls will have sent a small chocolate to each of the boys." She sketched out a quick stick figure drawing, putting small circles by each figure. "That's twenty-five individual chocolates going to the boys, each one with its own dwarf messenger. Then double that figure for the chocolates the boys sent the girls. Already we're at fifty dwarf messengers, and that's before we even start to get into _actual_ Valentines and _real_ gifts."

Cedric paused.

"…alright, it _was_ that bad," he said conceded. "I don't think my class got anywhere near two dozen dwarfs throughout the day."

"Thank you," Hermione said primly, and Cedric laughed.

"About Valentine's Day…" he said, a glint in his eyes. "You were wearing something very interesting in your hair at dinner that night…"

His eyes were holding hers, and Hermione could feel herself blush. She was getting sick of her face reacting and getting red against her will – if she could hold it together and _act_ normal around an attractive boy, why couldn't her body obey her and do the same?

"I know you sent it to me," she said. "It was beautiful, and the sonnet as well. I never thanked you."

Cedric waved away her thanks.

"You shouldn't have to thank someone for a Valentine," he said. "And the rose wasn't what I was referring to."

His eyes held hers, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

He took a scrap of parchment, a piece she'd ruined with a large ink blot and splatter, turning it over in his hands thoughtfully before folding it.

"I sent a beautiful girl a flower from afar," he said, carefully creasing the paper. "When I saw her wear it to dinner, I felt my heart sing. But when I saw what sat _on_ that flower…"

A murmur of his wand charmed the folded parchment, and a paper butterfly danced through the air. Its paper wings flapped with a crinkling sound, its flat antennae streaks of ink in the air, before it fluttered over to her, coming to land on her shoulder.

Hermione blushed a vermillion red.

"It—it wasn't my choice," she said, not looking at him. "Someone sent me a crystal butterfly. I got one last year too, so I didn't think anything of it. But this year it wouldn't stop fluttering around, and I couldn't get off me until the end of the day."

She bit her lip, glancing up at him.

"If it were a month ago, I don't think it would have flown around me," she said carefully. "I think its interest is… a recent development, we'll say."

Cedric's eyes flashed with understanding.

"It wasn't your choice?" he asked.

"I couldn't get the butterfly _off_ ," she emphasized. "I didn't—I didn't want to wear one yet. It's traditionally done during a formal debut to society at large, not during _school_. Wearing one at school seemed inappropriate and a bit crass."

"If it helps to reassure you, it wasn't," Cedric told her. "A lot of girls wear their butterfly accessories for a while, especially in the younger years."

"That's good, but…" she sighed. "Cedric, I didn't _want_ to 'debut', or however it's considered. I want to lay low the rest of the year until all this Chamber of Secrets nonsense is over. After _that_ , I can then have my 'debut' or whatever in Diagon Alley this summer, when I'll be nearly fourteen."

Cedric sat back, looking at her.

"So what I'm hearing you saying," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face, "is that you don't want me to ask you out again yet, despite having chrysalized."

Hermione's face bloomed red.

"I—"

"No, it's fine," Cedric said with a smirk, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I know how Slytherins speak – you can't just come out and directly say a thing. That's alright – I'll do the direct talking for both of us."

If it was possible, her face turned even redder.

"So I won't ask you out again," he told her, smiling. "You're not ready for that and don't want to date yet, and I respect that." He paused, meeting her eyes. "I _will_ ask you, though, if you'd mind a new study partner and friend."

"A—a study partner?" Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Cedric, you're two years above me. Studying with me couldn't _possibly_ benefit you in any way."

Cedric laughed.

"It'd benefit _you_ ," he pointed out, and Hermione scoffed.

"Cedric, I'm perfectly capable of completing my own work without help—"

Cedric laughed again.

"Hermione, I _know_ that." His eyes danced with amusement. "I was thinking more that you could study _with_ me. You're well capable of absorbing fourth year material now, I'd wager, and with how easily you take to magic, I thought it might be fun."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

A study group was one thing. She had a few of those, scattered amongst her friends in various houses. They were functional, tiny clusters. A study group was one thing, an inconsequential thing.

A tutor for advanced magic was quite another.

"You'd—you'd teach me what you learned in your lessons?" she said, her eyes wide. "You'd really do that for me?"

Cedric gave her a soft smile. "I thought you'd like that."

"I _would_ ," Hermione emphasized. She looked up at him. "But Cedric, I don't—you'd have to tutor me _immensely_ to get me anywhere near to caught up with you. With all that's been going on this year, I haven't had the time I'd wanted to study ahead. I'm sure to be terribly behind."

"Then I'll tutor you," Cedric said easily, shrugging. "You're whip-smart and ambitious, and at the top of your class. You'll catch up to me in no time at all."

"It will be a hassle for _you_ , though." Hermione frowned. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd _love_ to study ahead with you, but you're going to end up reviewing old material for _ages._ This is incredibly generous of you, but you're not exactly going to be getting anything out of it for a while."

Cedric rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, before looking back at her with a hidden sort of smile playing about his lips.

"Hermione," Cedric prompted. "What do you know about me?"

The part of Hermione that liked tests immediately perked up.

"Your full name is Cedric Amos Diggory," she said. "You're fifteen, and your birthday is in early September. Your classmates think you're a shoo-in for prefect next year but are undecided if you'll accept it or not." She paused. "You play seeker on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and you're very good."

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

"Is that all?" he said mildly.

Hermione bit her lip.

"You come from a pureblood family, but you seem to be rather familiar with some parts of muggle culture," she said, hesitant. "You're familiar with muggle literature, and you know that muggles shake hands upon meeting instead of bowing. You also seem to know some origami, which I don't think is a wizarding thing yet."

Cedric grinned and flicked with his wand, and his paper butterfly began to flutter around them again.

"Very good," he said. "What else?"

Hermione wracked her brain.

"You—you've given me roses," she said. "Light pink and lavender ones. You've given me three now—"

"And why, Hermione," Cedric interrupted gently, "have I given you roses?"

Hermione paused, her cheeks slowly starting to heat.

"You—you like me," she said, not looking at him. "You told me yourself that you fancy me and want to date me."

"Excellent," Cedric said. He tilted his head at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he gave her a half-smile. "And, knowing that, Hermione – can you truly think of no reason I'd want to spend large amounts of time with you?"

Hermione's face was a bright red, and Cedric laughed.

"You're going to need to start considering people's motives a bit differently soon, I suspect," he teased her. "You're very good in analyzing people, but you'll need to consider their interest in you as a factor soon. I doubt I'm the only one who's interested in you."

Hermione's mind flitted back to the Valentine's day gifts she'd received. "That may be true." She looked back up at him. "But you're the only one to express is plainly without anything ulterior going on."

"What? Slytherins, have hidden motives?" Cedric held a hand to his mouth in mock horror, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh. He grinned at her, his eyes softening. "Really though, Hermione – I'd like to spend more time with you and get to know you. And I'd love to teach you magic."

His eyes held hers, soft and sincere, and Hermione could feel her heart skip in her chest.

"I—I'd really like that," she admitted, and Cedric grinned widely.

"It's a deal, then?" he said, holding out his hand.

Hermione considered for a moment longer before nodding once, decisively.

"It's a deal," she said firmly, taking his hand.

She was expecting to shake his hand, as one would shake on a deal, but Cedric merely turned their linked hands and bent over, pressing a kiss to the back of hers, his eyes holding hers. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, and Cedric gave her a slow smile, his eyes dark.

"It will be my joy and honor, Hermione."

"I—thanks—"

Hermione wondered if she'd ever learn how not to blush around him.


	161. The Ides of March

The Ides of March arrived without much fanfare save a light drizzle outside. Hermione got dressed and gathered her books as she always did. Breakfast was fine, morning Transfiguration went well, but at lunch there was the distinct buzz of gossip around the tables, and Hermione felt a foreboding feeling in the air.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, settling down into her seat.

"Someone said they saw Hagrid at his hut," Tracey said, taking a sandwich. "It got reported, and word is that the Ministry is coming. They think Dumbledore might be hiding him, and they want to search the entire castle."

"And this is verified?" Hermione said, her eyes wide.

"Not just yet, but it's likely," Blaise confirmed. "I bet they cancel afternoon classes. Can't teach with the Ministry and the Aurors stomping about, can you?"

Hermione's eyes went to the head table. Dumbledore and McGonagall were noticeably absent.

"Well," she said, helping herself to a sandwich, "I suppose we'll see."

Later during the meal, Professor McGonagall came striding in looking stressed. Several wisps of hair had escaped her tight bun and were floating around her, making her look frazzled.

"Afternoon classes have been cancelled," Professor McGonagall announced to the crowd. "Please use this time to study for your upcoming exams and complete any outstanding assignments. You are permitted full range of the school, but you _must_ go in groups of at least two at all times. Thank you."

The hall broke out into excited babble at this announcement, but Hermione was still watching McGonagall as she lowered her voice and turned to the head table. Hermione couldn't make out what she was saying, but the expressions on Flitwick's and Snape's faces had her wondering what exactly was going on.

She found out soon after lunch, when there was a cluster in the Entrance Hall.

"The Ministry didn't find anything in Hagrid's hut," Blaise told her. "Rumor is they want to search the common rooms."

Hermione's heart stopped.

"They want to search the common rooms?" she repeated. "Search through everyone's things, or just search through the common rooms?"

"Just the common rooms," Blaise assured her. "They're looking for Hagrid hiding and searching every room of the school. But still…"

He trailed off grimly, and Hermione gasped.

"The location of the Slytherin dungeons have been a secret for _years_ ," she said. "This is… this really is not okay, is it?"

The dismayed look Blaise gave her was as clear an answer as any words.

The rest of the afternoon clear, students wandered the castle, allegedly studying, but many of them were watching the Aurors and Ministry storm around the castle, looking for Hagrid. There were swarms of them going in and out of Hagrid's hut, as if looking for evidence, while others crawled the castle. Done watching out a third-floor window herself, Hermione was heading down to the common room when she heard an argument.

"You _can't!_ You simply can't!"

"My dear girl, I'm afraid _not_ is not an option."

Hermione hurried down to the Entrance Hall, where a crowd of Slytherins had gathered. They were packed in tightly, blocking the Minister and his entourage from going down the stairs to the dungeons.

"We _refuse_ ," Jade said, glaring at Minister Fudge. "The Slytherin common room is for _Slytherins only_."

"My dear girl, desperate times call for desperate measures!" Minister Fudge looked hassled and stressed. "Every part of the castle is being searched. The Slytherin Common room is no exception."

"Want to bet?" Jade sneered.

Fudge stumbled half a step back instinctively, flinching in the face of Jade's aggression.

"Why is this happening now, anyway?" another Slytherin demanded, a boy. "There hasn't been an attack in ages. Nothing has changed."

"Hagrid was seen," the Minister said uncomfortably. "And the Travers family has been very adamant that something must be done to catch the culprit behind their daughter's attack."

The boy scoffed. "So _we_ have to suffer so the Ministry looks competent to the press?"

"My dear boy—!"

Hermione glanced over the crowd as more Slytherins began to yell at the Minister, waiting. Snape was bound to show up soon, drawn to the group of rebelling snakes like a magnet.

Most of the Slytherins were older ones, with bigger bodies to physically block the Ministry workers from advancing. The fury of the Slytherins was fierce and palpable in the air, so intense was their hatred and desperation to prevent the Ministry from invading their sanctuary. Hermione wondered if any of the other houses had objected to Ministry inspectors even nearly as much.

Hermione winced when she recognized some of the Slytherins closest to the Minister, the most adamant in their refusal. If Alexia Rosier was upset about something, the whole common room was sure to hear about it later; the girl could whinge for the Olympics and undoubtedly win the gold.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Snape descended upon them from behind, and Hermione turned to see as the crowd fell into a hush. A tall, dark Auror stood behind him, wearing an unusual set of purple robes that looked to have Middle Eastern sort of flair.

Jade quickly explained the dilemma.

"The solution here, _clearly_ , is to not let anyone into the Slytherin dungeons who has not been there _before_ ," Snape said curtly. He looked to the Minister. "So long as _some_ of your Aurors search, you will be content, Minister?"

Fudge drew himself up.

"Someone in the Ministry _must_ search the Slytherin common room!" he blustered. "You, least of all, get an exception! What with the Heir of _Slytherin_ causing all this mess…"

"Minister, I was sorted into Slytherin." The big man behind Snape stepped forward, his voice accented, though Hermione didn't know where from. "I already know the location of the Slytherin dungeons. Allow me to search for you, and this issue will be resolved."

Fudge paused, thrown off-guard.

"Shacklebolt? You were a Slytherin?" He looked surprised.

The Auror in question inclined his head. "I am."

Hermione found it interesting how the Auror answered in the present tense. Not I _was_ a Slytherin; I _am._

"Oh. Well, then…" Fudge adjusted his robes around him. "That will be fine. Snape, show Shacklebolt to the Slytherin commons, and he will search for the Ministry."

"Indeed, sir." Snape's eyes glittered with unsaid malice as he swept the Minister a curt bow, before stalking off toward the dungeons, the Auror in tow.

With that issue resolved, Fudge and his entourage went back outside to oversee the ransacking of Hagrid's hut, and the crowd began to break up. Hermione lingered in the Entrance Hall, wondering if she'd rather go up to the library and get some work done or if she'd get nothing done and should just give in to watching the unfolding spectacle, when an angry voice called out to her.

" _Granger!_ "

Hermione turned to see a group of three older students advancing on her, their Slytherin ties and robes clear.

They were people she recognized.

She knew their faces very well.

Hermione's blood ran cold, and she looked around frantically for help. But Blaise and Tracey had disappeared, ostensibly to go see the raiding of the common room, and the only other people around were Slytherins from the older years.

Hermione withdrew her wand.

"This is _your_ fault, Granger," the tallest girl hissed, advancing on her. " _Your_ fault. If you hadn't made that stupid bet with Lilian, none of this would have happened."

Hermione held her chin up, glaring.

"Lilian made her own bed to lie in," she said, defiant. "Not my fault, Rookwood. Blame it on her."

"But _you_ were the one to spread nasty rumors around to make the Heir of Slytherin doubt her heritage," an oily boy said from next to her.

"Those rumors popped up _after_ she was petrified," Hermione scoffed. "I've heard ones about Peter and Alexia now, too, what with them cowering in terror all the time now."

"She has a point, Snyde," Peter said from behind him. "I've gotten people asking me about my family too, now. Alexia's the same."

"But it's _your_ fault this happened," the tall girl snapped. "You're the one who made the stupid bet. And now your stupid bet has outsiders invading our common room – a place _you_ never belonged in in the first place!"

"If anything, my bet with Lilian _proves_ I belong—"

"Your bet proves _nothing!_ "

There was a jet of red that Hermione only narrowly dodged, and a slicing hex split her bag open, books and ink bottles crashing to the floor. Hermione saw red in anger, remembering those slicing hexes being cast at her once before.

"You don't _belong_ here! I'll spill your dirty blood all over the floor, you stupid little—"

"Not _this_ time!"

With a yell, Hermione barreled into Rookwood, tackling her to the ground in the Entrance Hall in a prison yard rush. Rookwood yelled, and the crowd that had gathered stumbled backwards in shock as both girls landed heavily on the stone, Hermione screaming in her enemy's face.

Hermione had considered what she would do in a situation like this again many, many times. She knew she wasn't strong enough to face several older students magically – not _yet_ , at least. The only advantage she held was she'd been bullied before, by _muggles_ , and muggle combat was something she had an edge in over prissy purebloods who'd only learned to fight with a wand.

She was also determined to scream as loud as she could the entire time to attract the attention of a teacher as soon as possible. This time, she wanted _witnesses_ to her attack.

"Get _off_ me! Get off me!"

Hermione yanked at Rookwood's hair viciously, kneeing her kidneys and scrabbling to grab her wand. Rookwood clawed at Hermione's hands and fought back, kicking, landing a solid punch in Hermione's eye that sent her reeling. The other students were shouting and cheering around them, the noise like a haze in Hermione's ears.

"What is the _meaning_ of all this?!"

Snape's voice boomed across the hallway, and Hermione and Rookwood both froze.

Hermione had never seen Snape's eyes look so deadly. Flinching, Hermione realized that they were violating the first rule of Slytherin – in public, Slytherins _always_ stick together.

And publicly brawling in the entranceway pretty much blew that to shreds.

Snape dragged Hermione off of Rookwood before yanking the other girl to her feet. He shoved them both toward a stone wall, fury in his eyes.

"Explain," he hissed.

"…Professor?"

Snape whirled around on the foolish student who dared interrupt him, and Hermione was surprised to see Ginny, clutching her bag to her anxiously.

" _What_ , Miss Weasley?" he breathed.

Ginny swallowed hard.

"I saw what happened. Rhamnaceae started yelling at Hermione, blaming her for getting Lilian petrified and getting the Slytherin common room searched," Ginny said, her voice wavering. "She shot a severing charm at Hermione – it broke her book bag – and Hermione ran at her to try and get her wand off of her." Ginny met Hermione's eyes, almost pleading. "I'm sure Hermione just did what she thought was best – to get her weapon off of her."

Snape's eyes narrowed on Hermione.

"Is this true, Miss Granger?" he said.

"It is," Hermione said quietly. "I didn't think I could best Rhamnaceae in a duel, especially not with her having backup along with her. I thought physically taking her wand would be the best way to make sure I wouldn't get hurt."

Snape regarded her hard for a long, tense moment, his eyes flicking to the still-lurking Snyde and Winikus, before turning to the older girl.

"And is this true, Miss Rookwood?" he breathed.

Rookwood's face contorted, and Hermione realized the pureblood's dilemma. She had been _caught_ this time, unable to manufacture an alibi, and if it had been just her word against Hermione's, she might have prevailed. But _Ginny Weasley_ had stepped up first. Blood traitors or not, the Weasleys were one of the Sacred 28, and contesting _her_ word publicly would hold significant ramifications.

"I'm not wrong," Rookwood finally said. "It _is_ Granger's fault Lilian got petrified."

"It is no one's fault but Miss Travers' and the Heir's fault she was petrified." Snape's voice was quiet and vicious. "If Miss Travers had waited until morning to satisfy her sweet tooth, she would be here and fine today." He paused a moment, eyes still fixed on her. "Miss Rookwood, come with me. Miss Granger, pick up your things."

"Thank you, sir."

Hermione darted away from Snape and over to the mess on the floor from her broken bag, kneeling. The crowd was dispersing with whispers, and she saw out of the corner of her eye Snape's billowing robes stalk down the stairs toward his office, Rookwood following behind him, subdued.

"Hermione…"

Hermione looked up to see Blaise and Tracey next to her, both kneeling on the floor. Tracey's eyes shone with concern, Blaise's with worry.

"We came as soon as we heard the shouting," Tracey said. "It echoed down the hallways…"

"What happened?" Blaise asked. He took Hermione's hand in his own and turned it over. Hermione's knuckles were scraped and bleeding, and she still had Rookwood's dark hair tangled in her fingers.

The blood on her knuckles was bright red. So, so red, like the red had been against the stone.

"Rookwood decided she wanted another go," Hermione said quietly. "There were only three of them together this time, not seven. When she cast at me, I ran and tackled her. I didn't think I could win in a duel with those odds."

"Oh, Hermione…"

Blaise's voice was anguished, and Hermione looked up at him.

"Hey, it's okay," she said. "I'm not really hurt—"

"One of your eyes is starting to swell shut, Hermione," Tracey cut in.

"—okay, I'm not _severely_ hurt, and I didn't get punished." She bit her lip. "Surely that's worth something, right? I didn't even come close to dying this time."

"The fact that _nearly dying_ is your _reference point_ —! _Hermione…_ "

Blaise gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, hugging her as if he was afraid to let her go. Startled and embarrassed, Hermione tentatively wrapped her arms back around him, offering comfort. Embracing people in public was usually reserved for couples and had certain connotations, especially amongst Slytherins.

Though, given the situation, she suspected any witnesses would make an exception.

"It's okay, Blaise," Hermione said quietly. "It's okay. I don't expect you to always be there for me. It's not like you can be around me 24/7, and it'd be impossible for you to just _know_ when I'm in trouble."

"For _now_." Blaise's voice was low. "The coven rings will help with that, though."

He finally pulled back, looking at her intently.

"We'll get her," he told her vehemently. "We'll get them _all_ for you. Whatever you want for your revenge, Hermione, _anything._ I will help you. Just give the word."

His wrath on her behalf warmed her heart, and Hermione gave him a small smile.

"We will," she said. "Don't worry – I'm not the 'forgive and forget' type."

Blaise snorted and smirked at that, and Hermione grinned.

"Fair enough," he said. "Just tell me when you're ready, and we'll get her."

Hermione smiled back and turned to Tracey, who had been gathering and cleaning up her things.

"Your ink bottle smashed all over everything, but I've managed to jinx most of it clean again," she said. "This pile's the ones I've cleaned already, but there's still a few to go." She huffed. "Clearly you shouldn't be carrying so many books, Hermione. Look at what happens when you do."

Hermione laughed and settled in next to Tracey, jinxing ink off her quills and parchment and textbooks. As the pile began to dwindle, Hermione felt a flicker of concern, and soon she began to methodically search through all her things with growing intensity, a nagging fear creeping in to consume her.

"What's up?" Tracey asked. "Is something missing?"

"I just thought…" Hermione said, going through her things frantically. "I thought I had another book in my bag…"

"This is all I found," Tracey said simply, and Hermione fixed her gaze on all of her things laid out before her, her eyes rapidly searching and scanning for something the cold creeping through her veins already told her she knew wouldn't find.

Tom Riddle's diary was gone.


	162. Panicking

The worst part of Tom Riddle's diary being gone was that Hermione could tell no one.

To the rest of the school, nothing had changed – the Heir was still out there, the monster still a threat. Only Hermione had known that she'd effectively neutralized the attacks, and she had let her worry slacken. But now, with the diary stolen by someone, her fear was back in full force – moreso, even, now that she knew the monster didn't just petrify, but that one look could _kill_.

She couldn't even tell _Ginny_ , the one other person who might have realized just how bad this was. Ginny had _trusted_ her to take care of the evil book, and she would be upset and betrayed to learn that Hermione had carelessly let someone steal the diary from her. At least _Ginny_ wouldn't have to worry – she was a pureblood, so she was safe.

Though _that_ was a nightmare all of its own to consider. Ginny had believed Hermione was a New Blood, so Hermione hadn't been attacked. There was no guarantee whatever poor soul picked up the diary _this_ time would feel the same. In fact, the odds were stacked considerably against her; it had been older Slytherins in the Entrance Hall when the diary had been taken, those least likely of all to believe.

Her only hope was that it was Tom who held the ultimate influence in who was attacked and who was not. Surely Tom knew she'd figure out who had the diary and catch them? She was the only one who would conceivably get him out of this alive and not destroyed by Dumbledore the second Dumbledore realized what sort of Dark object he truly had on his hands.

Unless, of course, Tom opted to just kill Hermione.

She was the only one who knew, after all. It would certainly be much simpler.

Scratch that. Having Tom be her only hope was an _awful_ idea.

Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, hold it, and exhale, counting to seven and repeating it a few more times. It was a little easier to settle her thoughts now that part of her magic steadied the rest, but she was ultra-aware that she was still prone to spiraling, especially when she couldn't get outside.

Slowly, her breath steadied, and Hermione was glad that there was no one around to see her panicking.

Because she was _definitely_ panicking.

She'd had the sense to take refuge in the Slytherin common room immediately after it was done being searched, where she _knew_ the basilisk couldn't get to her. The entire common room was empty save for her, which was a rarity; most people will still watching the Ministry sack Hagrid's hut, and Blaise had said that everyone else was going to follow Fudge and the Aurors up to the Gryffindor Tower and see if they could all shove their way in after them - which left her _wonderfully_ alone.

Hermione withdrew a Sugar Quill and a piece of parchment to look at. Though she daren't write anything down, gnawing on the end of the quill while considering her problem helped her think things through more calmly.

The new Heir, whomever Tom would manipulate into doing his bidding, was only dangerous inasmuch as they could control the basilisk. If Hermione could neutralize the basilisk, she would be safe, and she could search for the diary at her leisure. She needed a weapon to be able to take care of the basilisk, though – to protect herself, if nothing else.

She mentally thanked her lucky stars her father had insisted that get a sword. If she only sought to get one now, she'd never have managed it by the end of the year.

So. First thing: write to Bloodthorne and ask for a status update on the sword.

Next, she'd need to maximize her use of the time from now until the next attack. It would take time for Tom to win the trust of someone new, and until he did, he couldn't possess them. It was during this uncertain period that Hermione had the best odds to catch the new Heir before anything terrible happened. It would also be the _hardest_ period of time to catch the new Heir, as the only evidence she'd have would be "oh, that person has the diary," but she had to _try._ People could _die_ from the basilisk, including her.

Hermione wondered briefly if she should consider looking around corners with a mirror first.

She'd have to clue her coven in somewhat; she'd need to at least trust them with her concern and have them help protect her and help her search. At least with a bunch of Parselmouths all together, one of them would be _bound_ to hear the basilisk approaching if it was nearby.

The fact that none of them had muggle parents would help with security, too.

So, second thing: convene her coven. Preferably as far from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom as she could.

As Hermione gnawed on the end of her quill, looking anxiously over the piece of parchment she'd only imagined scratching into, the Slytherin Common Room door opened. Pansy Parkinson entered, along with Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass.

The image of Rhamnaceae Rookwood shooting a cutting curse at her replayed in front of her eyes, and abruptly, Hermione saw red.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_

Before she was entirely aware of what she was doing, Hermione had her wand out and aimed at Pansy, her attack blasting Pansy backwards off her feet and into the wall, hard. Daphne screamed while Hermione grabbed Pansy's wand from the air, and she leapt at her from across the room, yanking Pansy to her feet and slamming her up against the wall.

"Hermione, what are you doing?!"

"Merlin, she's lost it—!"

Hermione held her wand at Pansy's throat, her eyes deadly.

"Tell me," she breathed. "Was it you who set Rookwood against me again?"

Pansy's eyes wend wide, and Hermione heard her breath catch in her throat, a frightened little gasp. Hermione shoved her against the wall harder as best she could.

"Tell me!" she demanded. "Is Rowle next? Is Snyde? Tell me!"

"I didn't!" Pansy begged. "I—I heard what happened, but Granger, I didn't—!"

Furious, Hermione stepped back, letting Pansy fall to the floor. She glared at her as the other girl got to her feet, trembling under her fury.

"So you _didn't_ set them against me this time?" she snarled. "It was just an attack of opportunity that they decided to seize upon on their own?"

"Granger, I didn't set them against you the _last_ time, either!" Pansy protested, frightened.

"Oh, right," Hermione scoffed. "Like I'm supposed to believe that. You _hated_ me."

"Yes, and they _knew_ that," Pansy stressed. "They needed a decoy to lure you out into the ambush. You'd never have gone with one of them!"

Hermione glared at Pansy, and Pansy held her hands up in surrender.

"I swear to you Granger," Pansy said, her voice shaking. "I may not like you, but I've _made_ my decision. I've seen what you can do, and I decided not to cross you again. I haven't said a word against you all year."

Hermione _severely_ doubted that. More likely was she hadn't said anything that Hermione would be able to trace _back_ to her.

"If you didn't plan the whole thing," Hermione demanded, "than who did?"

"Rhamnaceae," Pansy said immediately. "Lilian and Saunder were the loudest complaining about you, but Rhamnaceae's the one with the cunning to _do_ something about it. That's why I couldn't believe when I heard that she attacked you openly like that – it's so _unlike_ her."

"I'm not. It was all her allies around," Hermione scoffed. "Everyone knows she and Lilian were close. She saw an opportunity for a 'crime of passion', and she took it."

"She really _might_ have just lost her temper?" Pansy ventured. "With the stress of the common room being searched and the security checks—"

"Do you think I _care_ about _why_ she decided to attack me?!" Hermione's scream was furious, and Draco made an aborted motion towards Pansy as if in alarm, but Daphne held him back, her eyes wide. "Pansy, it was _dumb luck_ I didn't _die_ the first time, you realize? The only reason I let _you_ get off easy is you didn't know _how_ to cast a cutting charm!"

"Wait, _what?_ " Pansy blanched. "You wouldn't have—"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me I wouldn't have died," Hermione breathed, her eyes like fire. "It was dumb luck that I knew a healing charm to patch my ankles back up so I could stagger out for help. A half hour of lying there unfound, I would have bled out, and if blood loss hadn't gotten me, my lacerated spleen would have."

Her glare was venomous, and Pansy had the sense to stay silent.

"I had the sense to know a first year with no name wouldn't stand a chance against seven purebloods of higher standing," Hermione said steadily. "I'm not so _stupid_ as to not know that legal recourse was not available to me." Her eyes glinted. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to pay you all back."

Pansy's eyes went wide in horror, and Hermione rolled her eyes and waved her hand.

"Relax, Pansy," she said, dismissively. "You got your turn first, with the secret of your troll blood coming out."

Pansy looked torn and cautiously grateful. Draco and Daphne were staying very still and very silent.

"You _swear_ to me it was Rhamnaceae Rookwood who planned my attack?" Hermione said.

"I swear it on my magic," Pansy said immediately. "Give me my wand; I'll swear it."

Her own wand still aimed at her carefully, Hermione gave the smaller girl back her wand.

"I swear on my magic, to the best of my knowledge and in any planning sessions I was privy to, Rhamnaceae Rookwood was the one to plan the attack on Hermione Granger that took place a little over a year ago," Pansy said immediately.

There was a green curl of magic in the air that dissipated, and Pansy breathed out a sigh of relief, looking to Hermione with pleading eyes.

"I didn't _know_ it was going to be that bad," she said. "I didn't know it _was_ that bad."

Hermione looked at her steadily.

"I have been given a _gift,_ Pansy, you realize?" she said finally. "Magic imbued me, _chose_ me. I was chosen to _help_ wizards regain what they have lost. Their power, their prestige, their fertility…" She shook her head. "And you nearly snuffed it all out before it even began."

Pansy was pale, and Hermione folded her arms.

"Are you going to tell anyone of what happened here tonight?"

"No!" Pansy said immediately. "Absolutely not!"

Hermione turned to look at Draco and Daphne over her shoulder.

"And you…?" she asked.

"I won't," Daphne promised immediately. She gave Pansy a cold look. "Your secrets are my own, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes flicked to Draco, who swallowed hard.

"I can promise I won't tell anyone here at the school," Draco said carefully. "But my father—"

Hermione snarled.

"Does your father question you under Veritaserum, Draco?" she demanded.

"Well, _no,_ but—"

"Then you _lie_ to him," Hermione spat. "You _lie._ Do I need an Unbreakable Vow from you?"

Draco's eyes went wide.

"We—we can't," he stuttered. "At this age—we'd stunt our magic—"

"Maybe that's something _you'd_ need to worry about," Hermione said, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile. "As the one _touched directly by magic_ , somehow I'm not afraid of _my_ magic being stunted."

Daphne elbowed him harshly, and Draco stumbled.

"I won't tell him," he said finally. "But if he learns of it another way, I can't lie to him."

Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust, but she presumed that was probably the best she was going to get from him.

" _Great,_ " she muttered sarcastically. "Now I need to add 'Lucius Malfoy' to my list of people to deal with, do I?"

Draco winced but didn't object, and Hermione let out a noise of frustration and stomped her foot.

The common room door opened, and Blaise, Tracey, and Millie entered, immediately freezing upon seeing the tense standoff, Hermione still holding her wand at Pansy.

Wide-eyed looks of fear were shared between Draco, Daphne, and Pansy, before Blaise just cocked a jaunty eyebrow.

"Alright here, Hermione?" he said.

"Yeah," Hermione said, finally lowering her wand. "Just taking care of some things."

"Oh?" Blaise inquired, moving toward her side. He looked at Pansy. "Anything new I should be worried about?"

"I was checking, but no," Hermione said. "At least, not anything you weren't already aware of."

Blaise nodded, before looking to Draco and Daphne.

"Need help with them?" he asked, withdrawing his wand. "Oaths of Secrecy extracted, perhaps?"

Draco went a pale white, but Hermione dismissed it with a wave, turning back to face Blaise directly.

"No. _Let_ them break their promise to me," she said. "They all saw what happened to Damon Rowle and Lilian Travers after they crossed me. If they decide spilling my secrets is worth risking my wrath…"

She trailed off, shrugging, and Tracey was grinning while Millie was smirking, which made Hermione suspect that Draco was making that terrified expression again where it looked like he was about to wet himself.

"In that case…" Blaise gave her a sideways glance. "Luna sent me to get you. She said you needed us…?"

Hermione tossed her curls back, haughty.

"Lead the way."


	163. Planning for the Worst

Almost as if Luna had read her mind, her coven was waiting for her at the top of the North Tower in an empty classroom that had some rugs and piles of soft pillows strewn about the floor, with an odd, musty smell hanging in the air. It was about as far as someone could get from the first-floor bathroom, and Hermione finally felt her shoulders start to relax.

"Hermione!" Susan exclaimed, getting to her feet. "I heard what happened! I'm so sorry!"

"Wait, _what?_ " Hermione stopped short, and Susan hugged her tightly. "You _did?_ "

"I told them," Blaise cut in, giving her a look. "Otherwise, it's still a matter internal to Slytherin, I believe."

"Oh," Hermione said. "That's okay then."

"Your eye looks _awful_ ," Harry said, wincing. "Madam Pomfrey didn't have anything to help with that?"

"No idea," Hermione said promptly, taking a seat. "I didn't go to the Hospital Wing."

"What?" Harry said. "Hermione, why not?"

Hermione hesitated. How best to explain she was suddenly afraid for her life…?

"Hermione is worried that she is in danger," Luna said calmly. "She isn't, but she worries she is."

Hermione shot Luna a look. "I'm not?"

"No," Luna said. She blinked up at her. "After all, nothing's really changed, has it?"

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. Luna was great, but sometimes the ambiguity of which statements were her getting vague impressions of the future or which statements were just vague drove Hermione a bit mad.

"She was just assaulted in the hallway," Blaise shot back. "That seems like a risk of danger to me."

Luna nodded wisely. "Yes. Rhamnaceae Rookwood is angry. But of course she is – her plan to pin her attack on Lilian on Hermione isn't working."

"Wait, what?" Susan looked baffled. "We just learned about this from Blaise. What are you talking about, she attacked Lilian?"

"Oh," Luna said. "Rhamnaceae and Lilian had a fight before the winter break. Rhamnaceae had the monster attack Lilian, and she's trying to get Hermione blamed for it because she hates Hermione."

Hermione's mind boggled for a moment as the coven bickered. Was Luna saying _Rhamnaceae Rookwood_ was the Heir?

"But wouldn't that make Hermione look like the Heir of Slytherin?" Harry frowned. "Rookwood seems to want the exact _opposite_ , if she's still on about Hermione's parentage."

"She's blaming Hermione for it because of Hermione's bet with Lilian and her friends," Luna said. "Not for doing it directly."

"How do you know about that bet?" Hermione demanded.

Luna merely tilted her head, her eyes wide. "Was I not supposed to?"

"I don't know where you're getting your information from, but you're wrong," Blaise pointed out. "Travers and Rookwood didn't fight before the holiday."

Luna gave him a bland smile. "Didn't they?"

"Regardless!" Hermione cut in, holding up her hands. "I—I am worried about being attacked in the halls. If you all could help make sure I don't go anywhere unprotected even in groups, I would really appreciate it."

"Of course!" Harry nodded fiercely. "We'll defend you, Hermione."

Susan looked thoughtful.

"Against bullies, or against the monster?" she asked.

"Why not both?" Hermione said, trying for a casual smile.

Susan raised her eyebrows but nodded. "Fair enough. Okay."

Blaise gave Hermione a pointed look like she was stupid to even ask, and Luna looked amused.

"If it will make you feel better, I will go with you," Luna told her. She patted Hermione's hand. "Don't worry, though; this won't last for long."

Hermione didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, especially when she didn't even know which 'this' Luna was talking about.

* * *

To her pleasure, Hermione got a letter back from Bloodthorne the next day.

 _Hermione Granger,_ the letter began.

 _Hermione Granger,_

 _Your sword is nearly done. The forging and enchantments are complete. The metalsmith has offered anyone in the Horde the opportunity to help temper the blade with their blood and venom, and the line has lengthened for weeks._

 _If you would come to get it over your midterm break, it would be done for you._

 _Bloodthorne_

There was an addendum scribbled at the bottom.

 _This is unrelated to your commission. Do you have fears of:_

 _The dark  
Small enclosed spaces  
Yelling  
Being buried alive_

 _Please write back with the answers. I would hope that your answers would be irrelevant anyway._

Hermione blinked.

Well. That was… odd.

 _Was she afraid of being buried alive?_

"Do goblins have venom?" Hermione asked Millie, who shrugged.

"Maybe?" she said. "We don't really know much about goblins, as a whole. Even in the rebellions they always stole their dead away, so wizards never studied them in detail like they have other creatures."

Hermione made a face.

"They're not _creatures_ ," she said.

Millie snorted. "The Ministry disagrees with you."

"Why do you ask?" Blaise said, cutting in. His eyes gleamed. "Do you have a sudden secret need for goblin venom? Should I start putting feelers out to collect some?"

" _No_ , Blaise." Hermione thought that it seemed Blaise like wanted _everything_ she asked about to be a ritual component of some kind. "I just wondered."

Blaise adopted a sad and crestfallen expression, before grinning and winking at Hermione.

"Just checking," he said. "Always happy to be of use."

Hermione lingered after breakfast to write Bloodthorne back, Blaise staying with her and looking over his Charms homework before classes began.

 _Bloodthorne,_

 _Thank you for your prompt response. I will go home over the Easter break and come to get the sword. Please let me know what I owe the smith for it at this time._

 _I am not afraid of the dark, nor of small enclosed spaces. I have never particularly_ _ **liked**_ _being yelled at, but I am not afraid of it. And while the idea of being buried alive is a terrifying one, it's nothing I think about particularly often and actively fear happening to me._

 _Why do you ask?_

 _Hermione Granger_

She sent her reply off via owl, watching it fly off, her mind buzzing with curiosity. It was such an _odd_ letter - asking about being _buried alive?_

Hermione had another response delivered to her later that afternoon as she walked outside between Herbology and Charms, a tiny Gringotts owl swooping in to drop the letter on her head.

 _Hermione Granger,_

 _You may ask, but my reasoning is my own. I would tell you of it if it became immediately relevant to you._

 _I would see you soon._

 _Bloodthorne_

"' _My reasoning is my own'_ ," Hermione mimicked with bad grace, scowling at the response. "Wonder how Snape would react to that one in Potions when I change the ingredient list up."

She resolved to get more answers from Bloodthorne in person. She couldn't just let this strangeness carry on and on.


End file.
